


The Invisible Touch

by AppleSeeds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Magician Aziraphale (Good Omens), Magician Crowley, More pine than a Christmas tree farm, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: Aziraphale is reduced to a quivering mess just looking at Crowley’s face smiling up at him from the programme, let alone sitting in the front row of the theatre watching him perform, or standing face-to-face with him, with Crowley's hand on his arm, after he summons him to the stage to help him with one of his tricks...When Aziraphale reveals that he too is a magician and the two actually become friends, Crowley soon realises that someone has severely knocked Aziraphale’s confidence, and becomes determined to do whatever he can to restore it.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 224
Kudos: 315
Collections: Aziraphale/Crowley Human AUs, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Captivated

**Author's Note:**

> Thought I’d write Aziraphale as the pining mess this time! I’ve just been given a few new projects to work on so I’m not sure how quickly I’ll finish it, but I'm a massive procrastinator so it shouldn’t be too long to wait!
> 
> The title relates to a magic trick by the same name and also the idea that someone can massively affect you, whether for good or for evil, without ever physically touching you.

Children were running impatiently around the foyer of the theatre, many wielding various iterations of something cheap and plastic adorned with flashing lights. Aziraphale could relate to their excitement, but he restrained himself to clutching his programme tightly against his chest, beaming as he looked up at the poster for the show he was about to see. Aziraphale loved magic shows, both watching and performing them, but nothing gave him quite the same thrill as watching this particular magician perform.

Anthony Crowley was truly spectacular. He was stunningly handsome, of course, in his close-fitting all-black costume, red curls falling around his face, eyes accentuated with black liner. But it was much more than his looks. Crowley was enchanting, captivating, and ridiculously talented (or so Aziraphale thought, anyway). He blushed when he realised how long he’d been staring longingly at the man’s likeness on the poster, and shuffled out of the foyer.

The doors hadn’t been opened yet, so Aziraphale perched on a windowsill beside a display of flyers for forthcoming shows and flicked open his programme. His breath caught just looking at the photo of Crowley smiling up at him. He hastily flipped it closed, his cheeks burning, deciding he would read it later when he was snuggled up in bed, inevitably unable to sleep after the excitement of the evening.

Aziraphale attended shows at the theatre regularly. Not just magic shows, he had enjoyed many plays, musicals and even pantomimes with his friend Tracy (once joined by her husband Mr. Shadwell, who had agreed to accompany her for _The Crucible_ ). As such, Aziraphale had developed quite a good relationship with the theatre staff, who would always call him just before tickets went on sale for anything they knew he’d be particularly interested in, offering him the best seats in the house. That’s how he’d ended up with a front row seat for Crowley’s performance tonight.

He never normally bought a front row seat for a magic show. Watching magicians was as much for research as it was for pleasure (well, most of the time anyway), and it was best to sit somewhere a little more discreet, where he could scribble down a few notes to refer to later when developing his own material. He’d even done that at Crowley’s shows before. But that wasn’t why he was here tonight, and his reason for being here was also why he hadn’t asked Tracy to come with him. If she took one look at his face while he was watching Crowley perform he would never live it down.

A young usher pushed open the theatre doors and nudged each one hard against the wall until the magnetic seal clicked. With a friendly smile, she began encouraging people towards the door, children fighting to get there first. Aziraphale licked his lips and stayed still for a moment, not wanting to look too eager. _As if anyone is even looking at you._ He rolled his eyes and made his way to the door, offering his ticket to the usher with a polite and surprisingly steady “good evening”.

Quickly finding his seat (front, just off-centre), Aziraphale relaxed back into it and took a deep breath, pressing his palms against his thighs. His heart was racing, and when he lifted his hands they were actually trembling as though he was the one about to step out on stage. _You’re going to need to calm down_ , he admonished himself. _This is ridiculous. It’s bordering on creepy._

A child of about seven years flopped down into the chair next to him with a bounce, chewing a mouthful of jelly snakes that dangled from his lips. Aziraphale smiled at him, and the child appraised him for a moment like he was something extremely confusing and perhaps even a little distasteful, then turned the other way to the lady beside him. Aziraphale shook his head and glanced up at the stage.

That's when he started having regrets. He was _very_ close to the stage, perhaps about two metres away. What if Crowley made eye contact with him? He shivered at the thought, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. How was it possible to want something so badly, and to desperately _not_ want it at exactly the same time? He actually considered leaving. He could just get up now and walk out. The cheeky little boy who had knocked his arm at least eighteen times already would probably enjoy having the extra space to sprawl out, or could use his chair to hold his enormous bag of sweets. Yes, he could get up and leave. No one would ever have to know.

Of course he didn't actually _want_ to leave. But oh! What would Crowley think if he looked at him and saw that look of extreme excitement and fondness on his face? Aziraphale knew exactly what his face looked like when he was thinking about Crowley. After he’d paid for his ticket for the show he’d moved his phone away and caught his ridiculous beaming expression reflected back at him by the screen.

_Oh well, better to regret something you’ve done than a missed opportunity_ , he convinced himself. Even if he would never be able to show his face at the theatre again.


	2. Willing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley invites Aziraphale up to the stage to help with a magic trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept writing this instead of working (oops). Hope you enjoy!

Aziraphale touched his fingertips to his cheeks. His face was aching from how much he’d been grinning, but there was no chance he was going to stop. Crowley was _glorious_. 

When Crowley had first stepped out on stage, Aziraphale had swallowed hard and realised just how close he was going to be. Crowley looked like an actual _person_ , which of course is a ridiculous thing to say, but Aziraphale was so close that Crowley no longer seemed like a distant, faraway vision up on a stage, but another human being standing right before him.

As Crowley had introduced himself and his new show, _Secrets_ , his eyes had roved around the audience. He was using an audience engagement technique that Aziraphale recognised. Rather than just moving his eyes randomly across the audience, Crowley was fixing his eyes on one person at a time for a few seconds, then moving on to someone else, a technique designed to make everyone in the audience feel like part of the performance was delivered just to them. By doing so, Crowley was forming a connection with them, leaving each blessed recipient of his attention feeling like they were the only person in the room for those few seconds.

Aziraphale well knew that a good performer will keep track of which members of the audience they’ve engaged with so far, spreading their attention equally throughout the room. This meant that just as he had feared and longed for, there would come a moment, with no way of predicting when it would happen, when Crowley’s eyes would fix on _him_.

It happened just after he popped a giant yellow balloon and revealed a stuffed elephant that had _miraculously_ found its way inside (“Really? This is your _favourite_ animal?”) and handed it over to a beaming little girl who had been ‘helping’ him up on stage. She had been accompanied by her mother, whose face now looked like Aziraphale’s had after he’d bought the ticket for the show. He found himself glaring at her for a second, before he sighed and recoiled at his behaviour, his own beaming expression soon restored.

The woman on stage thanked Crowley, and even leaned in to place her hand on his back and kiss him quickly on the cheek ( _outrageous!_ ) before placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and encouraging her towards the steps, accompanied by a round of applause from the audience.

Crowley’s eyes followed the pair as they made their way down the steps, then flicked to the front row, locking with Aziraphale’s and deploying another technique that he recognised; focusing directly on the space between someone’s eyes, rather than making normal eye contact, which gives the illusion of each of your eyes looking directly into each of the other person’s, creating a more intense connection. This lasted only a second. Crowley then briefly looked him up and down and his eyes settled on his face just for an instant, before Aziraphale’s moment to feel special was over, and Crowley was already looking at someone else.

Crowley was quiet for a moment, leaning down to pull something out of a box beneath a table at the front of the stage. He placed a wooden disk with a large nail protruding from it on the table and wiggled his eyebrows.

“I need another willing volunteer, a grown up for this one I’m afraid!” he said with a devilish smile as the children protested. Crowley passed his hand back and fore above the sharp point of the nail. His eyes flicked back to Aziraphale. Aziraphale hadn’t prepared for the privilege of directly looking into Crowley’s eyes _twice_ , discovering the hard way that he’d let his guard down as his insides liquefied under Crowley’s scrutiny. “How about you, sir?”

The child next to Aziraphale huffed and glared at him, which was exactly what Aziraphale needed to give him the confidence to stand, offering the child a smug smile in return. _Who’s really the child here?_ he criticised himself.

Crowley reached out his hand as Aziraphale made his way up the steps, and Aziraphale, unsure if he was meant to hold it, shake it or do nothing to it opted for the latter. Crowley placed his hand on Aziraphale’s arm, guiding him to stand to the side of the table that was currently empty save for the large nail. He placed his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and turned him slightly towards the audience. Aziraphale trembled and clutched his hands together behind his back out of view.

“What’s your name?”

“Aziraphale.”

“All right.” Crowley didn’t repeat his name. Aziraphale knew from experience that meant that Crowley hadn’t actually caught his name and didn’t want to ask again. “Who’re you here with tonight?” he asked with a grin towards the child who had been sat beside him.

“Oh... I’m here on my own.”

The awkward tension throughout the theatre was palpable, alerting Aziraphale to how strange it actually was for a grown man to come to a magic show alone and, furthermore, to sit in the front row. He could see some of the adults, and even some of the _children_ , turning to each other with expressions of condemnation and judgement.

“Oh, all right. No one to miss you if this goes wrong then,” Crowley teased. The tension lifted slightly. “Come to a lot of magic shows?”

“Well, yes. I’m a magician myself, you see.” So many years in his past spent speaking insincerely with people had left Aziraphale with the ability to hold a pleasant conversation and say what was expected of him without any particular engagement of his brain. For this first time in many years he was grateful for it.

“Ah... so you’re here to steal my _secrets_?” Crowley murmured with added sibilance on the final word. Crowley laughed, which prompted the audience to do the same, successfully dissipating the remaining tension. It felt a little easier to breathe again, and Aziraphale reminded himself that it was actually imperative that he remember to do so. He attempted a polite chuckle at Crowley’s joke, which emerged as more of a strangled sigh. “Well, since you're a magician then unfortunately I’m not prepared to do this with you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Aziraphale stepped away instantly, ready to return to his seat. Crowley reached out for him and grabbed his arm, applying a little more pressure this time. Aziraphale felt every muscle in his body tense, and perhaps Crowley felt it too because he immediately let go.

“Nahhh. Nyeehhh, can you just...? Could you sit over here for me? You don’t mind if I do something else with you, do you?”

“You can do whatever you want with me,” Aziraphale murmured sincerely when he’d sat down on the chair Crowley was gesturing to at the back of the stage. Aziraphale blinked and held his eyes tightly closed for a couple of seconds. He hadn’t actually intended for that to come off as flirtatious, but as soon as he heard the words coming out of his mouth he realised it could easily be taken that way. Fortunately, there was no way Crowley would think anything of it, coming from someone like him, and Crowley was too far away for his microphone headset to have picked it up, so at least the audience weren’t aware of what he’d said. Crowley’s head whipped back round, his eyes twitched slightly and he raised an eyebrow, running his tongue slowly over his lips.

“I can do whatever I want with you?” Crowley repeated into the microphone, facing back towards the audience so Aziraphale couldn’t see his expression. Aziraphale’s stomach lurched and he shrunk down in his chair, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead from more than just the heat of the stage lights. Someone in the audience wolf-whistled.

“Whatever should I do with that offer? I _have_ been meaning to try out the flaming sword trick...” Crowley continued, stroking his chin as if pondering a diabolical scheme. Aziraphale clutched his hands together in his lap and squeezed so tightly his knuckles went white.

Crowley glanced back to Aziraphale and the grin dropped from his face. He tilted his head and stepped towards the back of the stage, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m only teasing, my lovely, you just sit there and I’ll think of something to do with you, all right?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together hard, forcing his mouth to remain closed as he watched Crowley saunter away from him back towards the front of the stage. He turned his head towards the shoulder Crowley had touched, his skin tingling, and with that movement became aware of how much his muscles were actually aching. He’d been holding the tension throughout his body ever since he’d stepped up on to the stage. To distract himself, he started looking around the stage and quickly made out the outlines of a trapdoor in the centre. It was so tempting to fall to his knees, pull it open and disappear beneath the stage, never to be seen again.

“So,” Crowley announced, once more facing the audience. “I suppose I need another volunteer. Can you do me a favour and put your hand up now if you’re also a magician so I can just avoid picking you?” The audience laughed. “If you’re a parent or a grandparent who has been brought here against your will, you might be tempted to put your hand up to stop me from picking on you. Do that at your peril, because the children who have brought you here this evening will then believe that you really _are_ a magician, and you will have to learn at least one magic trick before you get home and they demand a demonstration. And I don’t plan on giving away any of my secrets.” He turned back to Aziraphale and winked, and while Aziraphale’s stomach did somersaults, his eyes pricked with tears.

As Crowley brought his replacement ‘volunteer’ up to the stage, holding out his hand, which they took ( _because of course you were supposed to take his hand you idiot_ ), Aziraphale tried to focus on Crowley’s performance. Aziraphale had of course performed many times (although never in a setting like this), but he had never felt as uneasy as he did now, with the bright lights shining down on him, sitting on the stage doing nothing and fearful of people watching his reactions. How much worse was this than the thought that Tracy, or even _Crowley_ , might have caught his lustful, longing gazes? Now he was on display for everyone to see. A tear slipped its way free, and he reached up to brush it away with his handkerchief, under the guise of dabbing at the sweat brought on by the lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you're enjoying it so far! :-)


	3. Easy to read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley deploys his mind-reading powers on Aziraphale.

The ‘volunteer’ Crowley had brought up on stage successfully managed to smash their hand, interlinked with Crowley’s, on to a series of paper bags without causing serious injury by inadvertently selecting the one hiding the nail. Aziraphale watched from his unusual vantage point at the back of the stage. With a sinking feeling in his gut he realised that the only reason Crowley hadn’t wanted to use him for the trick was because he could already tell he was so inept that they’d probably have ended up in hospital.

The audience applauded as Crowley lifted the final bag, the only one of five that they hadn’t chosen to blindly crush with their hands, to reveal the nail. He pressed his fingertip gently to the tip of the nail and drew back in an exaggerated gesture of pain before picking it up and waving it around proudly. His ‘volunteer’ gave him a quick hug ( _apparently this is acceptable?_ ) and headed back down the steps. They grinned at the people they had come to the show with, pretending to wipe sweat from their brow as they headed back to their seat.

Crowley laughed and carelessly threw the nail back into the box from which he’d retrieved it, into which he also discarded the scrunched up paper bags, leaving the table clear once again. He took a deep breath and turned back towards Aziraphale.

‘ _You ok_?’ he mouthed silently with a slight tilt of his head. Aziraphale managed to nod. “Could you come and join me at the table please? Bring your chair with you.”

Crowley stepped closer to him, grabbing the empty chair that was next to him and twirling it around effortlessly in one hand, elegantly placing it at one end of the table. Aziraphale assumed he was supposed to place his chair at the opposite end, but didn’t dare do this in any other way than what was the most sensible. He bent at the knees, lifted the chair with both hands and placed it carefully down next to the table. Crowley smiled, nodded and gestured for him to take a seat, as he himself flopped down into the chair opposite. Aziraphale sat down primly, folding his hands over each other close to him on the table.

“Hi,” Crowley murmured with such a disarming expression that Aziraphale started wondering what it felt like just before spontaneous human combustion occurred, because he was pretty sure that was what was about to happen. Granted, that would be much more impressive than the flaming sword trick. Aziraphale somehow managed a small smile in response and Crowley turned to the audience.

“Well, we’ve had some fun so far but remember, this show is all about _secrets_ ,” Crowley even hissed a little like a snake this time. “We already know one of our friend here’s secrets; he came here to spy on me and try to steal _mine_.” The audience laughed and one of the children shouted ‘ha!’.

“But of course he _told_ us this. He _chose_ to give us this information. But we all have secrets that we keep to ourselves. Things no one could ever know, unless they could read your mind! And it just so happens that I am _very_ good at reading minds. So, let’s see what else we can find out, shall we?”

Aziraphale’s heart was beating hard and fast in his chest. He was quite certain that Crowley was well aware of most of his thoughts already. An extra layer of heat burned at the top of his cheeks.

“Right, I want you to think of a number. Not your PIN number, don’t worry,” (again, the audience laughed along with Crowley), “just any two digit number, all right?” Aziraphale laced his fingers together and nodded.

“Now, magicians often say ‘change your mind as often as you like’, but please don’t do that, I need you to choose a number and stick with it, ‘cause I’m gonna be reading your mind and that would just...” Crowley waved his hands around to indicate a jumbled mess. It’s certainly how Aziraphale’s mind was feeling right now. Aziraphale nodded again. Even he was aware of the eeriness of his silence. “Do you have one?” Another nod.

“Yes,” Aziraphale managed.

Crowley reached down into the box beside the table and withdrew a piece of white card and a thick black pen, which he placed in front of him on the table before reaching his hand out, palm up, to Aziraphale.

“May I take your hand?” This request was unusual only because it was just that – a request. When his previous helper had been on the stage, Crowley had instructed them, ‘ _link your hand with mine_ ’, and Aziraphale recoiled at the notion that Crowley felt the need to treat him more delicately.

In less time than it took for Aziraphale to consider this, his body had already initiated an instinctive, protective response, and withdrawn his hands further away from Crowley. Aziraphale instantly mourned the lost opportunity, but it was probably for the best, his hands were undoubtedly sweaty and they were pulsing with each of his forceful, rapid heartbeats. Crowley’s eyes flicked down to Aziraphale’s hands and then back to his face. He tilted his head and exaggerated a frown.

“He wants to make this hard for me,” Crowley then grinned, now facing the audience. Aziraphale slowly drew in a deep breath, hoping it wasn’t too obvious. His stomach was churning with his further contemplation of the fact that he could be holding Crowley’s hand right now, but having an entire theatre audience watching them sat across from each other at the table was bad enough, let alone watching them holding hands.

“That’s all right,” Crowley continued, “I can still do it.” Oh, what were people thinking of him now, refusing such a polite and simple request? Crowley leaned in as close as he could to Aziraphale across the table. “Look at me. Keep your eyes on mine,” he murmured, tapping his finger to his temple beside his right eye, “and keep thinking about your number.”

Aziraphale used one of his hands to squeeze the other for comfort, and locked his eyes on Crowley’s. The lights seemed to get even brighter. Hard to believe that less than an hour ago Aziraphale hadn’t even been able to manage looking at Crowley’s face in the programme. Now he wasn’t just looking at the real thing, he was staring into his eyes, and moreover, had actually been instructed to do so. He owed it to himself to make an effort to focus on what was happening. Despite the agony endured in the present moment, actually sitting on stage and staring into Anthony Crowley’s eyes was a memory he would treasure forever.

Crowley’s eyes were enchanting; they were almost uniform in colour, a rich, deep brown accentuated by Crowley’s black eyeliner, warm and open and inviting. If Aziraphale had thought it was a privilege to have Crowley look at him while he was in the audience, he could barely describe what an honour it was for Crowley to unwaveringly gaze into his eyes now. Somehow the entire theatre fell away, and just for a moment, all Aziraphale was aware of in the entire world was Crowley. All the tension drained from his muscles, except for in his face, where they tugged his lips into a smile that Crowley returned.

“Just think of the first digit for me now, ok? 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9,” Crowley progressed through the numbers slowly. “All right, now the second? 0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,” Crowley counted much more quickly the second time. This was a really bad time for Aziraphale to realise he was so easy to read, and suddenly the tension was back and his heart was beating so forcefully it felt like it had leapt up into his throat. He tried to swallow it back down. “Thank you,” Crowley whispered before standing up from his chair and perching on the edge of the table to face the audience. He scooped up the card and began scribbling on it with the pen as he addressed them.

“Now, children in the audience, as it turns out I also know one of _your_ secrets! I know what your favourite subject is in school! It’s Maths, right?” he asked confidently, laughing when the children started shaking their heads, booing, blowing raspberries and giving him thumbs-down gestures. Aziraphale chuckled.

“Ok, ok, ok! Let me see if I can change your mind.” He held up the card and then turned it to Aziraphale. He had written down sixteen numbers in a four-by-four grid. “None of these are your number, are they?”

“No.”

“What was your number?”

“27.”

“27, all right,” Crowley grinned and held the card up to the audience. “Right, come on kids, we’re gonna do some adding up.” He started adding numbers along the four rows in the grid. “7 + 1 + 12 + 7 equals...?”

“27!” a man in the second row shouted out. Crowley playfully rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Thank you, _kids_.” Aziraphale turned towards the man and could see him laughing and elbowing his partner. “11 + 8 + 6 + 2 equals...?”

“27!” the children roared enthusiastically. It was unlikely they were actually doing the maths; they just trusted Crowley.

Crowley went on to demonstrate how each of the four rows in his grid added up to 27. As did the four columns, the four corner squares, the two diagonals and the four centre squares. The adults were staring up at the staged open-mouthed and incredulous. The children seemed to be conceding that maths wasn’t consistently the worst thing in the world. The entire audience started clapping and Crowley held out the card towards Aziraphale.

“Want me to sign it?” he grinned. Aziraphale’s lips parted.

“Oh... Yes, thank you.” Crowley drew it back to him and scribbled in the bottom corner before handing it over.

Somehow Aziraphale had forgotten that at some point this experience was going to end. That was the problem with letting yourself experience something so utterly captivating, it may feel good at the time but it was like a drug that you’d end up craving forever. It he ever wanted to say anything to Crowley, this was his last chance.

"You're... That was incredible," Aziraphale said softly. Crowley grinned and touched his hand to his chest.

Aziraphale rose from his chair and Crowley slithered off the table, coming to stand in front of him with his back to the audience, blocking Aziraphale from their view. Crowley held out his hand very slightly in front of him, and, having wiped his hands down on his trousers in anticipation of this before he stood, Aziraphale took it, earning himself a beaming smile from Crowley.

“Thank you,” they whispered simultaneously, before Aziraphale retreated back to his seat, clutching the card that Crowley had given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this and supporting me in my endeavours to procrastinate, and thank you so much for your kudos and comments, I do hope you enjoy the rest of the story!
> 
> The numbers in Crowley's grid in case you want to draw it out and test it are:  
> 7, 1, 12, 7  
> 11, 8, 6, 2  
> 5, 10, 3, 9  
> 4, 8, 6, 9


	4. Pitied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale hides in the toilets during the interval. Crowley finishes his performance.

Almost as soon as Aziraphale took his seat back in the audience, Crowley announced the interval. People started shuffling out into the foyer and the ice cream vendors made their way into the auditorium. The families sitting on either side of him headed out, leaving Aziraphale sitting alone on the front row. He was holding the card Crowley had given him face down on his lap, and he now flicked it over, running his thumb just under Crowley’s autograph in the bottom right corner. He licked his lips and breathed in a deep, shaky breath. Next to his signature Crowley had drawn a little smiley face and a heart.

Aziraphale stood up and placed the card down on his chair with his programme, folding his coat and placing it protectively on top, and headed for the toilets. Not the closest ones, of course, but the ones up two flights of stairs and tucked away around a corner, which he knew from experience were always deserted. He locked himself away inside one of the cubicles and fell against the door, throwing his head back and only narrowly missing colliding with the coat hook. Then all he focused on was breathing. _In. Out. In. Out. You’re fine. It’s over._

Once again he entertained the idea of leaving, but it wasn’t really an option any more. The thought that Crowley might glance down and notice he was missing and take that as a reflection on the quality of his show, or worse, recognise it for what it truly was, was mortifying.

_In. Out._ Aziraphale drew a breath deep into his lungs through his nose and counted it out as he breathed out of his mouth: _1,2,3,4,5_... and then his breath hitched as he recalled Crowley looking deep into his eyes while he counted.

_Well, there’s one relaxation technique I will_ never _be able to use again._

Aziraphale left the cubicle. He hadn’t really needed to go in there for privacy, as anticipated this particular set of toilets was empty, but he’d just needed to hide away in a small space for a moment where he was sure no one would stumble upon him. He washed his hands and patted them against his face before grabbing a paper towel to dry them, hoping it would help to cool him down. A quick look in the mirror revealed how flushed he was, and he turned away quickly to avoid having to consider it any further.

After what he had endured, Aziraphale decided he at least deserved an ice cream, and joined a short queue leading to one of the vendors. Hopefully this would help him to cool down. He was getting a little attention from people passing, but just tried to smile politely when necessary and ignore it as much as possible. The lady in front of him in the queue turned slightly and smiled at him.

“God, I’d be so nervous if he asked me up on stage. You did really well.” (‘I’d be so nervous _too_ ’ was heavily implied.)

“Thank you.” The man in front of her walked away with four mini tubs of ice cream stacked one on top of the other, and the lady ordered three chocolate swirl ice creams from the vendor before turning back to Aziraphale.

“What you having, I’ll get it?”

The thought that his behaviour on stage had induced so much pity that it had a complete stranger offering to buy him an ice cream further depleted Aziraphale’s reserve of strength to endure another second of this evening. But he smiled, and he thanked her, and he asked for strawberry swirl, and he didn’t flinch when she patted his arm as she walked away.

By the time he returned to his seat, the child next to him was already back, chocolate sauce covering a good proportion of his face. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely in control of his expression when he looked at the boy, but suffice it to say the child shuffled away and didn’t once knock Aziraphale’s arm for the remainder of the evening.

The ice cream was sweet and delicious, just like Crowley. With the white noise of voices chattering all around him and the faint sound of bebop being piped into the auditorium, Aziraphale’s mind went over every detail of his encounter with Crowley, committing it all to memory. After a few more minutes, the house lights dimmed, the chattering hushed, and Aziraphale’s heart flipped over and dived down into the pit of his stomach.

The second half of Crowley’s performance was even better than the first. Aziraphale hadn’t come here for research tonight, but for the tricks he recognised, or where he knew enough to figure out what Crowley must have been doing, he was extremely impressed by his technique. It was far more flawless and sophisticated than his own, although that _was_ rather stating the obvious.

Crowley called up another two volunteers (they both shook his hand when they reached the stage, because _of course_ ) and had them work together to come up with a card and a number, then revealed that the card they had chosen was in the position in the deck matching their number. One of them shook Crowley’s hand on leaving the stage, the other kissed him on the cheek.

He went through a whole series of volunteers with one trick, getting different people to cut a deck of cards that Crowley had shown to be well-shuffled as many times as they wanted before taking the top card and handing back the deck to Crowley, so that he could ‘use his psychic powers to sense which card was missing’. He almost instantly called out each of their cards and got it right every single time.

Throughout the entire show, with the exception of Aziraphale, all of Crowley’s volunteers had several things in common. They all took Crowley’s hand when he held it out to them as they stepped onto the stage. They all engaged in friendly banter with him. They all looked relaxed and reached out to him with some form of appreciative gesture as they departed. Aziraphale fought hard to resist the urge to let his head fall down onto his hands.

Crowley himself was still glorious and captivating and enchanting. Aziraphale noticed that his gaze flicked over to him occasionally, but he seemed to be avoiding making further eye contact. Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or not. After Crowley finished predicting a bright and positive future for another volunteer in a trick involving Tarot cards, Aziraphale glanced down at his watch. It was nearing the scheduled finish time for the show.

“Well, then, we’re nearly at the end.” The children cried out ‘ _Nooooo!_ ’. “I know, I’m sorry, it’s been lovely seeing you all this evening. I do have _one_ more thing I’d like to do. Do you remember at the beginning, I told you that _I_ had a _secret_? My secret envelope, do you remember?” Crowley pointed to the envelope, which had been pinned to a board for the duration of the show (so the audience could keep an eye out for any tampering).

“ _My_ secret is that I knew everything that was going to happen here tonight. I don’t just read minds, and I don't really need to use Tarot cards. I can actually predict the future.”

Crowley wiggled his fingers and the audience ‘ _ooooh_ ’ed on cue.

“A lot of what you’ve seen tonight has involved numbers, and I’m going to use some of those numbers to prove to you that I saw into the future and knew what would happen tonight.”

Crowley flipped around a board that was propped up beneath the envelope. Four statements had been written on it.

“So, firstly, the number in the bottom left corner of the magic square,” he drew a square in the air with his fingers, “do you remember what that was?” Of course, no one did, and Aziraphale instinctively clutched the card he was still holding on his lap. Crowley knelt down right at the front of the stage and reached out to him. “May I show them?”

_No, it’s mine, it has your adorable little heart on it and I don’t want them to see_. Aziraphale nodded and held out the card. Crowley held it up to the audience, but he clutched it by the bottom right corner, concealing his autograph and accompanying cute little drawings from them.

“Bottom left corner, so that’s a four, yes?” Crowley nodded and stretched out to return the card to Aziraphale. He stood back up and wrote ‘4’ on the board.

He then asked the audience to recall the number values of two particular cards that had been selected by volunteers during the evening, and finally asked a young girl to select a number out of a bag. After this, he had written “4355” on the board.

“Which, if you’ll remember, was the sequence that gave us the bright and positive future with the fortune telling, which _of course_ it was, because tonight’s number was always going to be...” Crowley grinned and ripped open the envelope, proudly holding up the card inside. “4355!”

The audience burst into enthusiastic applause, many rising to their feet. Crowley bowed and waved.

“Thank you all, and goodnight!”

And with that, Crowley vanished into the wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Aziraphale's evening isn't over yet, bless him! <3
> 
> The two volunteers working together to come up with a card is a trick called Collusion, it's deceptively simple and always goes down well. There's a video of the creator, John Bannon, performing it on YouTube if you're interested!


	5. Uncomfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes looking for Aziraphale after the show.

Aziraphale waited until more than half of the audience had left the auditorium before he stood up and put his coat back on. He and Tracy would normally head to the bar after a show for a quick drink and to chat about the performance, but he certainly didn’t fancy going there alone.

He tugged his gloves out of his pockets and pulled them on. It had been quite warm when he’d arrived at the theatre earlier, but for the past week or so, as October had progressed, there had been a definite chill in the air after sunset. Aziraphale picked up his programme, sliding the card Crowley had given him safely inside it, and headed out into the foyer, where many groups of people were still mingling and chatting excitedly about the performance.

“Aziraphale!”

He heard his name before he saw Crowley extricate himself from a group of people with a polite smile and nod. Crowley jogged over to him and was evidently catching his breath. Aziraphale wondered how he’d managed to get out here so quickly, but found it endearing that Crowley made the effort to rush out to speak to members of his audience before they left.

Aziraphale hadn’t actually considered that he might see Crowley again this evening, and clutched his programme tighter against his chest like a shield. Aziraphale let his eyes drift over the man approaching him, and Crowley actually seemed a little less intimidating now. He looked more human somehow without the bright stage lights washing out his skin. His hair was ruffled as if he’d been running his hands through it, and although he was still wearing his makeup, it was a bit smudged and the liner was spreading a little under his eyes.

Given this unexpected opportunity to redeem himself, Aziraphale was determined to manage a polite conservation, and it was going to be much easier, despite the racing of his heart, away from the spotlights and the judgemental scrutiny of the audience.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t actually think you’d caught my name?”

“Ah, you noticed that, eh? Well, yes, I suppose you would have. I was concerned I might mispronounce it, didn’t want to attempt it on stage. How’d I do?”

“Perfectly.” Crowley took another deep breath.

“Look, I’m sorry to accost you like this; I just wanted to apologise. I got the impression I made you feel uncomfortable earlier?”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale lied.

“Oh. Good,” Crowley smiled. “And just in case you were wondering, the nail trick? It’s just I’ve seen different magicians do it different ways, and if you knew it and were looking out for something in particular and it wasn’t how I was doing it... and... nyeeeeah, could’ve been nasty,” Crowley laughed, shaking his hand about and apparently imagining it being impaled on a giant nail. “So d’you do theatre stuff?”

“Oh, no! I always thought I’d like to but I’m not nearly good enough for that! I mostly do children’s parties. Though the last one I did was a _complete_ nightmare. The birthday boy said I was ‘rubbish’ and I’m afraid his friends rather agreed with him, and then somehow I managed to instigate a food fight, got _covered_ in cake, haven’t been able to get the jam stain out of...”

“Why are you doing that?”

“What? Oh, you mean why do I tolerate rudeness from naughty children?”

“No, well, _yeah_ , I’d tell their parents where they could stick my magic wand if they let their kids talk to me like that. But no, I mean, why are you talking down about yourself? We’ve only just met.”

Aziraphale felt his eyes sting, just as they had as he’d sat at the back of the stage, and he blinked to try to soothe them, spreading the moisture that had been gathering. He parted his lips and stared at Crowley, but didn’t know how he could possibly respond to his criticism.

“Ugh... sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have...” Crowley raised his palms for a second and then huffed out a breath. “I didn’t mean any offence.”

“It’s quite all right,” Aziraphale croaked.

“Erm... hey, look, d’you wanna come backstage? If you’re thinking about doing theatre shows one day? See where the magic really happens?”

“Oh, no, I would hate to stumble across one of your _secrets_ ,” Aziraphale blurted out before he even gave himself chance to think. Self-sabotaging can indeed be a highly refined skill that comes easily given enough practice, but Aziraphale regretted it instantly. Crowley had asked why he was talking down about himself, and honestly, he _knew_ the answer to that. But why his mouth said no to things he wanted before his brain could actually engage, _that_ he couldn’t really explain, and he hated himself for it. It was like somehow, somewhere, he’d become convinced he didn’t deserve things that made him happy.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and considered Aziraphale for a moment before responding.

“Oh, don’t worry, my _secrets_ are very well hidden...”

The sensation Aziraphale experienced then was rather unfamiliar, perhaps like he was glowing from the inside out. Crowley had given him another chance. He could easily have said ‘fair enough’, wished him a good evening and walked away. But he hadn’t. _Oh God, please don’t mess this up_ , Aziraphale urged himself.

“Well, in that case, yes. Please. Thank you.” Crowley grinned and ushered him away from the foyer, pushing open a door labelled ‘Private’ that Aziraphale had never even really noticed before. He found himself in a poorly-illuminated corridor. This was a whole new side to the theatre compared with how it appeared to the public. The paint was peeling from the walls, the strip lighting was flickering in places. There were printed signs on the walls reminding people to do and to not do various things.

Crowley led Aziraphale to another door. A piece of paper with ‘ _Anthony Crowley 20 th October_’ printed on it, in Comic Sans of all things, had been shoved at an angle into a Perspex mount. Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure to what he thought Crowley was referring when he’d said ‘backstage’, but _this_ was clearly his dressing room for the night. Crowley opened the door and gestured to a small sofa pushed up against the wall.

“Make yourself at home.”

Aziraphale settled on to the sofa and debated for a moment whether to take his coat off or leave it on ( _leave it on, you wouldn’t want to outstay your welcome_ ), settled his programme on his lap and tugged off his gloves. He leaned forward and parted his lips, but Crowley raised a finger to silence anything he was about to say.

“’Nathema?” Crowley bellowed, startling Aziraphale.

“Good Lord!”

“Sorry,” Crowley grinned sheepishly. The door to his dressing room flung open, revealing a young woman dressed in a smart black top and a long, dark green skirt.

“Yes, my Lord?” she announced as she waltzed into the room. She froze and her eyes widened when she spotted Aziraphale. “Oh. Hi.”

Aziraphale actually found her reaction rather reassuring. It did tend to suggest that she hadn’t walked into Crowley’s dressing room to find him with company before. For a moment, Aziraphale’s heart lifted and he actually felt special.

“Get us drinks, would you?” Crowley asked her. “Two glasses of house red, that ok with you?” His question was directed at Aziraphale rather than the young woman.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you.”

“Great.” He turned back to the woman, whose eyebrows had knitted together.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Crowley. That is just the sort of task I was hoping for when I asked to be placed with you.”

“Thankssss,” he hissed through his teeth. The young woman rolled her eyes but left the room with a smile on her face, pulling the door closed behind her. “Anathema. She’s kind of my intern.”

“Oh, lovely. Is she good?”

“Yeah, she’s all right. Better than the other one. Gah! Honestly, I swear to God one day I was working on my laptop and the minute he _walked into the room_ it broke.” Aziraphale chuckled.

“I don’t think he can be blamed for that.”

“Oh, you don’t know him. Trust me!” Aziraphale laughed politely. “Just gonna take my makeup off,” Crowley said, flopping down onto a stool in front of a mirror and grabbing a packet of wipes. Aziraphale was tempted to watch, but recognising how weird that would be, he sat quietly and let Crowley have some privacy. Not that he’d asked for it. They passed a couple of minutes in silence.

Anathema knocked once before she swept back into the room, holding a tray in one hand with two glasses of red wine balanced on the top.

“As requested,” she bowed and presented the tray to Crowley, who swivelled around on the stool and took both glasses. He’d managed to remove most of his makeup, and Aziraphale thought he looked even lovelier than he had before.

“Oh, shut up. Thanks.”

“Hey, I saw you on stage tonight,” Anathema said to Aziraphale. “I was in the wings, sorting out things for this idiot. You know why he didn’t want you doing that nail trick don’t you? ‘Cause you’d know which one it was and he couldn’t risk you shoving his hand on it on purpose as revenge for him being such a d--"

“Thank _you_ , Anathema.”

“You are most gracious, my Lord. Now if you’ll excuse me, _someone_ seems to have shoved all his props into a box in a manner that can only be described as total _chaos_ , and I need to put the Si Stebbins deck back in order because aforementioned somebody _dropped the cards into the box without putting an elastic band around them_! AGAIN!” she growled at Crowley.

“Got to keep you busy, Anathema. Can’t have you just lounging about the place.”

“If you need to escape, just shout. As demonstrated, I’ll be able to hear it,” she addressed Aziraphale, offering Crowley another glare before she retreated to the door. “Great show tonight, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

There had been no real malice in any of Anathema’s words, and Aziraphale wondered if perhaps he could make Crowley feel comfortable enough with him to engage in ‘ _banter’_ , or even ‘ _teasing’_. When they’d been on the stage together Crowley had said he was teasing him, and now, away from prying eyes and much more in control of himself, Aziraphale found himself wanting more of it. Whether he would be here long enough for such a thing to be possible remained to be seen.

Crowley held out one of the wine glasses to Aziraphale, who thanked him and took a sip. It really was rather lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always end up throwing my Si Stebbins deck haphazardly into my bag at the end of a show and regretting it later. If you want an easy, foolproof magic trick there are some really easy ones with that deck arrangement with good tutorials online. :-)
> 
> Thank you again for reading, I hope you're enjoying the story! I really appreciate your comments and kudos. <3


	6. Interested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale talk magic and a bit of teasing ensues. Crowley gives Aziraphale a lift home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I still writing this instead of getting work done?? My to-do list is glaring at me glarefully.

After his third sip of wine, Aziraphale found himself debating what was worse: an awkward silence or an awkward conversation. Apparently he decided the latter was preferable, as he blurted out, “What’s your favourite magic trick?”

Crowley was turned away from him, leaning in close to the mirror and attempting to remove the last few traces of eyeliner. With Crowley's attention directed elsewhere, Aziraphale didn’t stop himself from squeezing his eyes shut for a couple of seconds, as if that would save him from having to witness his own awkwardness.

“I dunno really. I’m doing this Halloween show next week, really spooky stuff. Big spooky fan, me. I do The Invisible Touch in it. Maybe that. I like the ones where it should be really obvious but people don’t figure out ‘cause our brains just aren’t wired to see it, y’know?”

“I don’t think I know that one.”

“No? It needs two volunteers I’m afraid, or I’d demonstrate.”

Aziraphale sighed. He had decided a little while ago that any further touches from Crowley, invisible or otherwise, would be more than welcome. He was _fairly_ certain he would be able to handle it.

“What else do you do in your _spooky_ show?”

Crowley swivelled around on his stool and studied Aziraphale.

“Is this research?” he accused.

“No! Not at all!”

“I _was_ kidding but methinks _he doth protest too much_.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry, I assure you that I’m not trying to...”

“Hey, shhh, it’s ok. I’m just teasing you.”

Hearing Crowley say that he was teasing him sent a jolt through Aziraphale’s body. He looked down at his lap and adjusted his programme slightly. He could feel the colour rise in his cheeks, and couldn’t hold back a smile, which Crowley, apparently, (and thankfully), misinterpreted.

“You’re teasing _me_ , aren’t you?” Crowley threw his head back and laughed, then used his feet to wheel his stool closer to Aziraphale. “Hey, you seem more relaxed now. I’m really glad; I was actually a bit worried before. Felt like I’d dragged you to the lions.”

The mortification of Crowley admitting he had picked up on Aziraphale’s state of turmoil on the stage was outweighed by the immense pleasure induced by discovering he'd been concerned. Besides, it was hardly surprising he'd picked it up on it, even the lady who bought him the ice cream had, and _Crowley_ could _read minds_.

“I am sorry about that, it is rather embarrassing. It was being on stage, I suppose,” Aziraphale lied again. Sometimes lying was morally right, in the same way that he supposed guns could lend weight to a moral argument. Saving Crowley from having to know what was actually going on in Aziraphale’s mind was _definitely_ morally right.

“Bad experiences?”

“Not exactly,” Aziraphale replied cryptically. Crowley didn’t press for more information, but he jumped up from his stool and began pacing back and fore throughout the room.

“Oh, hey, you know you were saying about kids being little shits?” Aziraphale squinted. He didn’t recall that being _quite_ what he’d said, but regardless, he shrugged his shoulders and nodded to encourage Crowley to continue. “Here’s one for you. You know the trick with the three coloured cards? Where you reveal that you predicted which one they’d pick? Instead of just using different colours, put pictures on them like famous people or flowers or something, then read out what they are and make one of them really hard to pronounce, right? Then pick on some grumpy looking teenager who clearly thinks you’re shit, not _you_ , I mean, just y'know, generic you, and then ask them to pick one, and they point at the hard to pronounce one or say ‘ _the middle one_ ’” (Crowley impersonated a grumpy teenager, and Aziraphale laughed), “ _so_ smug, think they’ve outsmarted you ‘cause you couldn’t _possibly_ have wanted ‘em to pick that one ‘cause you knew they couldn’t pronounce it, right? Then the look on their face with the reveal! It’s _glorious_!” Crowley performed a chef's kiss and cackled devilishly.

“You really love your work, don’t you?”

“Hell _yeah_ I love it! Isn’t magician one of the ‘I’m actually not _going_ to grow up’ answers to 'what do you want to be when you grow up?'”

“I suppose it could be.”

Crowley was still pacing, and Aziraphale could relate to feeling wired after a performance; he often found it difficult to settle even if he was exhausted. Eventually Crowley stopped and deposited himself on the armrest of the sofa, right next to Aziraphale, leaning in close so that their arms brushed together.

“Do _you_ love it?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound so sure?”

“No, I am. I do. I really do,” Aziraphale said, turning his head to Crowley and forcing a smile. He glanced down at his watch.

“Somewhere you need to be?”

“Oh... It’s just the last bus will be leaving soon.”

“Well I can drop you home?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“I’m not so cocky that I believe you traversed immeasurable distances just to come steal my _secretsss_.” He clenched his teeth and hissed, just as he had with Anathema, leaning in close for a second so their faces were almost touching. “On a _bus_ , no less.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“D’you know what? Doesn’t matter if you did. I’ll give you a lift, anywhere you want to go.”

_Tease him. Do it._ Please _, just do it._

“I really made you feel guilty, didn’t I?” Aziraphale grinned, but his heart had resettled in his throat again and he thought Crowley must surely be able to see his flesh pulsing with every beat.

Crowley’s response was unintelligible. Perhaps something along the lines of, "Nyyyeeeaaaahhhweeelllldgyngk." Aziraphale chuckled softly. “Just let me know when you’re ready. Although,” Crowley said with a glance at his own watch, “make it within the next fifteen minutes, ‘cause then we’re getting kicked out anyway.” Aziraphale laughed again, his heart settling back lower in this chest. 

“Well, I suppose I’m ready now, if you are?” Aziraphale suggested, draining the last of his wine. Crowley plucked the empty glass from his fingers and placed it on the table beside the sofa, which he was blocking by perching on the armrest.

“Yeah, sure. Just gonna change my shirt.”

Aziraphale breathed in ready to speak, then thought better of it and closed his mouth. Crowley had already jumped up from the sofa and started unbuttoning his shirt. Aziraphale looked away and pressed his hands against the programme on his lap, and then he looked back, partly because Crowley’s back was to him, and also because if Crowley didn’t want him looking then surely he would have asked? _That’s not a thing, Aziraphale. People can reasonably expect you not to watch them get changed without specifically having to_ ask _._ His guilt forced him to look away again, but when he closed his eyes, he found an image of Crowley's slender, muscular back had imprinted itself on his retinas.

“Aziraphale?” He instinctively looked up on hearing his name. Crowley was now facing him, a new shirt hanging off him as he shoved his other arm into it. It was still black, but more casual than the one he had worn on stage. Aziraphale must have spent a good two seconds watching Crowley doing up the buttons before he realised and flicked his gaze up to his face. “How long you been a magician?”

“Ah, I’m afraid for me it was more that I grew up for a while and then regressed.” Crowley grinned in response. “I’ve only been at it a couple of years.”

“What’s _your_ favourite magic trick?”

_The one we did together._

_Come_ on _! What’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like he’s going to read into it or think you’re flirting, that’s far too ridiculous a concept for him to even consider. It’s like he said, our brains are wired a certain way. Like when you encounter a post box, you don’t consider that it’s going to flirt with you, and_ you _are the metaphorical post box. It's a nice thing to say. Just_ say _it._

Aziraphale prayed that Crowley would assume the pause could be explained by him actually considering his answer, rather than comparing himself to a post box. Fortunately, his experience of performing had helped him to realise just how many thoughts you could have in a very short space of time, when you would only be able to say a few words aloud.

“Well, after tonight I think I would have to say the one with the numbers in the grid.”

“Magic Square,” Crowley said softly with a smile. He patted Aziraphale on the shoulder, running his hand a little way down his arm when he removed it. Aziraphale tingled all over. Crowley had finished buttoning up his shirt and crossed the room, leaning in close to the wall behind the mirror. “Anathema!”

Anathema reappeared almost instantly, dragging a box trolley behind her. Crowley shuffled around the room, grabbing his shirt, his makeup and wipes, and throwing them carelessly into a bag. Anathema rolled her eyes.

“You ready?”

“Yep. And we’re giving Aziraphale a lift.”

Crowley’s car was gorgeous, and it was obvious that he took good care of it. It was a vintage Bentley, black ( _of course_ ) and polished to perfection. Anathema opened the boot, pushed down the handle on the trolley and lifted the boxes inside. Crowley threw his bag in and it landed somewhere to the side before Anathema pulled the boot closed. Aziraphale smiled and gestured for Anathema to take the front seat.

“Nah, nope, no way. Get in the back, witch,” Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale gave Anathema a sympathetic look, but she just rolled her eyes and leaned in to shove a box out of her way before settling herself on the back seat. Crowley held the door open for Aziraphale. He was sure he heard Anathema mumble something he wouldn’t care to repeat.

Once Aziraphale was settled in his seat, Crowley closed the door for him and sauntered around to the driver’s side.

“You’re taking your life in your hands, you know?” he heard from the back seat before Crowley got into the car.

“What was that, my dear?”

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Aziraphale did see, quite quickly in fact. Crowley violently reversed the Bentley out of its parking space, then turned sharply and zoomed off the car park. Aziraphale unconsciously gripped the side of his seat and heard Anathema chuckling to herself behind him.

For the first time Crowley actually asked where Aziraphale lived, and of course, just as Crowley had suspected, it really wasn’t far away.

“No problem, just need to drop Anathema off first. I knew you hadn’t traversed great distances,” he added quietly.

_Not to say I wouldn’t. I would crawl miles across a scorching desert to see you perform._

Aziraphale stayed quiet, leaning his head against the window and occasionally squeezing his eyes shut when Crowley broke the speed limit by more than about fifteen miles per hour, or flung the Bentley around a particularly sharp bend. Crowley and Anathema were chatting about someone called Newt, and from an anecdote Anathema shared involving Newt and a lighting rig, Aziraphale deduced this young man must be Crowley’s other intern.

Crowley pulled the car haphazardly up to the side of the road, flinging it up onto the kerb.

“ _Chez Anathema_ , surprisingly not a cottage in the woods made of gingerbread.”

“Very funny, look who’s talking, you _demon_.”

“Witch.”

“ _Goodnight_ , Mr. Crowley. I finished sorting out your chaos so I’ll leave the stuff with you. Nice to meet you, Aziraphale.”

“You too, my dear."

Crowley got up and let her out of the car, calling out, "G’night, Anathema," as she walked away. She didn't turn around but did wave over her shoulder.

Crowley chuckled to himself. He watched Anathema make her way safely inside her non-edible residence and then hopped back into the car, shoved it aggressively back into first gear and revved it hard as he tore down the street. Aziraphale clenched his fists. Anathema really hadn’t been kidding.

“You all right?”

“Yes. Thank you. Thank you for driving me home.”

“Any time.”

They were only perhaps five minutes from Aziraphale’s house, particularly with the roads so quiet at this time of night and Crowley’s _interesting_ driving style. His time with Crowley was nearly over, and he found himself grieving already. He tried hard to think of something else to talk about, but nothing came to him, so he just watched Crowley’s hands as they pushed and pulled on the gear stick and glided over the steering wheel. A flash of an image of Crowley’s hands doing other things presented itself in his mind, but Aziraphale forcefully encouraged it to flicker away.

“This one? This massive white one?” Crowley asked as they approached Aziraphale's house.

“Yes, that's right.”

"Looks like a nice place."

"Thank you."

Crowley pulled the car on to Aziraphale’s driveway, pulled up the handbrake, put the car in neutral and turned off the engine.

“You gonna grab a notebook and write down all my _secrets_ while they’re fresh in your mind?”

By way of response, Aziraphale's options were:

  1. _I really don’t think I learnt anything worth writing down. (Possibly accompanied by a wink.)_
  2. _I’m shocked that you would even imply such a thing!_
  3. _No, I’m going to curl up in bed with my programme and stare longingly at your gorgeous face until I fall asleep and dream of nothing but you._
  4. _You know, that’s rather a good idea. Thank you for suggesting it, Crowley._



Or, apparently, 5. Stare at him and say nothing. After a moment, he managed, “Thank you again for the lift,” and reached for the door handle.

“So... Could I come see you perform sometime? It’s only fair.”

“Oh, no! Absolutely, most certainly _not_!”

Crowley’s eyes widened and he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Right. Well, then.” Crowley frowned and his right hand slipped down and gripped the key in the ignition like he was about to turn it. Aziraphale sighed. He had every intention of thoroughly beating himself up for this later. For now, he just needed to concentrate on successfully making it the six metres or so to his front door. He pulled the handle and pushed open the car door, and his stomach lurched.

_This can’t be over. He just offered you a chance to see him again. How could you be so stupid?_

Aziraphale climbed out of the car but didn’t close the door. He leaned his arms on the roof of the car and bent his head down.

“This _spooky_ show of yours, you said you’d be doing it for Halloween?”

“Mmmyeah, next Friday. The 30th. Why, you interested?”

_I’m very interested._ Aziraphale nodded.

“Well, hang on, I think I’ve got...” Crowley steadied himself with a hand on the back of the passenger seat’s headrest and reached into the back to grab the box Anathema had shoved out of her way. Aziraphale could hear rustling, then Crowley was holding a flyer out towards him.

“It’s just at this club. Eden, d’you know it?”

“No, I’m afraid not.” Aziraphale took the flyer.

“Well, the details are on there," Crowley vaguely gestured at the flyer. Aziraphale looked down at it, entranced for a moment by the almost seductive expression on Crowley's face in the photo. He caught himself almost immediately; it made no sense to look at this now when the real thing was right in front of him. There would be time for that later. "I’ll see you there, then?” Crowley added.

“Yes, you most certainly will.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Oh, and you have to dress up. And you can’t come as a magician or a fine gentleman from the nineteenth century or whatever this is you’ve got going on, which is _very_ stylish by the way, you have to properly dress up in an actual costume.”

“Oh... all right.” Aziraphale wondered what he’d let himself in for.

“No prizes for guessing what Anathema’s coming as,” he cackled. “Look, it’s been really nice to meet you. Don’t often get to talk to another magician. You take care, all right?”

“Yes, thank you. You too.” Crowley turned the key in the ignition and Aziraphale took that as his cue to shut the door. Crowley leaned over and rolled down the window.

“White vinegar mixed with a bit of liquid detergent. That’ll get the jam stain out.”

“Oh... thank you.”

“No problem. We’ve _all_ been there, my lovely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once, unintentionally, did what Crowley is suggesting with the three coloured cards trick and a teenager. The look on their face was priceless.


	7. Tempted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale meets Crowley at Eden, and Crowley absolutely loves his costume.

**Aziraphale: I need your help. Can I come round today please?**

**Tracy: Of course love. Come now if you like I’ll get the kettle on. What’s wrong?**

**Aziraphale: Everything’s fine, I just need your help. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.**

**Tracy: Ok love x**

“I need a Halloween costume!” Aziraphale announced as Tracy opened the door to let him in. She stood back to let him pass by and he followed their established routine, heading straight for the kitchen and taking a seat at the table.

“Whatever for?” Tracy asked, touching the side of the kettle gently to test the temperature before flicking the switch back on. Aziraphale slapped the flyer Crowley had given him down on the table, and Tracy came to sit beside him. “A club? Whatever’s brought this on? Last Halloween you took me to see _The Waiting Room_ , and the year before that it was that fancy castle tour.”

“It’s a magic show.”

“Oh, I see,” Tracy mused, picking up the flyer and reading it. “ _’The End of Days_ ’. Handsome man, isn’t he?”

Tracy’s husband, who only ever went by ‘Mr. Shadwell’, stomped into the kitchen and seized the flyer from Tracy.

“What’s this?" he asked, studying the flyer for a moment. "Looks like witchcraft t’me. An’m not sure about this Crowley. How many nipples has he got?”

“Well, now! However would he know a thing like that?” Tracy asked incredulously, slapping her husband on the arm and snatching back the flyer. At the same time, Aziraphale said,

“Two. He just has... the two.”

Tracy raised her eyebrows and her eyes twinkled. “You don’t just need a costume, do you? You want something that’ll make you look... nice?”

“That really _would_ require some witchcraft, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, stop it!” Tracy smacked him on the hand. “Of course I’ll help you with your costume, love. And I’m coming with you to the show as well.”

That had been inevitable, but it was worth it to secure Tracy’s help. Aziraphale really didn’t have any idea about Halloween costumes, and he really did want to make an effort for Crowley.

**_Eden. Friday 30 th October._ **

Aziraphale had never been to an establishment like this before. Eden was a strange venue full of sharply contrasting greys and greens in a style akin to nature-meets-concrete. The light level was low, but there were small spotlights along the wall, and although they didn’t spread their light very far, they brightly illuminated whatever was directly beneath them. Displays of artificial foliage were dotted around the edges of the club and there was even a ‘garden’ full of artificial plants, including a sizeable apple tree, near the entrance. The bar was packed, but further into the club there were tables with chairs around them, most still empty, next to a relatively small stage.

Aziraphale pushed through the crowds with Tracy’s arm looped through his. She had decided to come dressed as an eccentric fortune teller, and she really looked the part with her flowing purple dress and cape, dangly crystal earrings and bright green metallic eyeshadow. She had even attached a pendulum to a cord and was wearing it around her neck.

Aziraphale was wearing the costume Tracy had put together for him. He was dressed as an angel. Tracy had convinced him that this was a good idea on the basis of his ‘adorable cherubic face’ and ‘soft, halo-like blond curls’.

He’d drawn the line at a fluffy white halo, but was wearing long, flowing white robes edged with gold, a slightly uncomfortable and unnecessarily large set of white wings attached by elastic looped under his arms, and he had ordered a flaming sword prop, which he hoped was a touch that Crowley would appreciate after his comment about the flaming sword magic trick.

With his arm still linked with Tracy’s, Aziraphale headed for one of the tables near the stage, and they both took a seat. There would be no point trying to get drinks for now until people started to disperse from the bar. Tracy nudged Aziraphale gently and settled her hand on top of his on the table, giving it a light squeeze.

“Don’t be nervous, love.”

“I’m...” Aziraphale began. He’d planned to say ‘ _I’m not_ ’, but ended up confessing, “I’m trying”.

A loud crash out of sight drew their attention in the direction of the stage, followed by some rather foul language in what Aziraphale recognised as Crowley’s voice. A young man with glasses bumbled out through a door just to the side of the stage and stepped up on to it. Tracy and Aziraphale stared up at him.

“Oh, hello,” he offered, then began sorting through a box at the back of the stage.

“NEWT!” Crowley emerged from the same door, letting it slam shut behind him and leaping elegantly up on to the stage. “I told you not to touch it! Do you remember? When we sat down and I told you _one thing_? Which was _not to touch it_? Yes?”

“Sorry, Mr. Crowley.”

Crowley sighed heavily and looked up to the heavens as if asking ‘ _why are you doing this to me?_ ’. Crowley glared at Newt until the young man found what he was looking for in the box, clutched it close to him and edged timidly off the stage, just barely managing not to fall off it before retreating back through the door. Crowley scrunched his eyes closed for a moment and then looked out into the room.

“Oh! Oh my God! Hi! Sorry! Newt. ‘member I said about Newt? And you didn’t think he could be that bad?”

“Oh, yes, I rememb—“

“You look _amazing_!”

“Oh. Thank you,” Aziraphale replied quietly. Tracy squeezed his hand harder, and Crowley gazed down at their interlinked hands. “Oh, forgive me, where are my manners? Crowley, this is Tracy. Tracy, Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley hopped down from the stage and approached their table. Tracy let go of Aziraphale’s hand to shake the one Crowley was holding out to her.

“Pleasure. Stand up, then, let’s get a proper look at you.”

Aziraphale turned to Tracy, who nodded reassuringly, before rising from his seat and taking a few steps to stand in front of Crowley. He even picked his sword up from the floor and waved it about a bit.

“It’s a flaming sword,” Aziraphale explained, discreetly pressing the button to get the fake flames to glow and wiggle.

“Nicccccce.”

As Crowley’s eyes drifted over every detail of Aziraphale’s costume, causing all manner of things to stir within him, he let himself do the same to Crowley. He was dressed all in black again, this time a full ensemble complete with black shirt, waistcoat, jacket and cloak. His captivating deep brown eyes were hidden behind contact lenses that gave him the appearance of snake eyes, and he’d applied a temporary tattoo of a coiled snake to the side of his face.

“’m a demon. The serpent... get it?” he asked, gesturing his arms around to indicate the club. “Oh, hey, _I_ should have got wings! Do demons have wings? ‘Course they do, they used to be angels.”

“Well, don’t the two of you make quite a pair here in Eden?” Tracy giggled. Crowley looked between them and his face lit up like he had just discovered the answer to all the questions in the universe.

“Oh, you’re right! This is _brilliant_! This needs to go on my Instagram! Come on, let’s get pictures in the garden at the front!” Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist and dragged him back through the crowded bar area to the ‘garden’. Aziraphale could feel the excitement pulsing from him, making him feel dizzy. Too much was happening too fast, he couldn’t even begin to process it all. He wondered if Crowley was always buzzing like this before his shows.

“Look, it even has an apple tree!” Crowley beamed, taking his phone out of his pocket and placing it down on a nearby table. “So anyway, it’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you. And you?”

“Yeah, good. Excited for tonight,” he grinned. Crowley was rearranging the foliage, apparently to provide the perfect background for their photographs, when Newt found them.

“Erm... Mr. Crowley?”

“Not now, we’re gonna get pictures for Instagram.”

“Oh!” Newt responded enthusiastically, reaching for Crowley’s phone on the table.

“Oh no you don’t! If you touch my phone I swear to God it will be the last thing you do. Go get Anathema. You find me two decent chairs for The Invisible Touch and put them at the back of the stage, and for the love of God _please_ don’t touch anything else! You, my lovely, _you_ wait here.” Crowley patted a ledge in front of the fake apple tree, encouraging Aziraphale to sit down, and then vanished into the crowds.

Crowley returned a minute or so later, clutching a red apple. He grinned, accompanied by a sinister laugh.

“Anathema here yet?”

“No, not yet. What’s Newt supposed to be dressed as?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Someone trying not to get fired,” Crowley suggested.

“From his _unpaid_ internship?” Anathema weighed in as she shoved her way through the crowd of people and joined them.

“Unpaid? It’s costing me a fortune replacing all the stuff he breaks!” he hissed at Anathema before turning to Aziraphale. “Apparently, he’s supposed to be a seventeenth century witch finder.” He twisted back around to face Anathema. “Excuse to chase after you all night.”

For the first time, Aziraphale witnessed Anathema, standing before him in a very detailed, almost _authentic_ , witch costume, completely lost for words. She licked her lips and put her hands on her hips.

“What are you doing?”

“Instagram. Get my phone.” Crowley pointed at it. “An angel and a demon in the Garden of Eden.” Anathema cast her eyes over the scene, like a young person who could see the world through the eyes of social media, Aziraphale thought, and then conceded with a satisfied nod.

“Fair enough.”

“Let’s do a whole series of shots. Let’s start with... me whispering in your ear trying to get you to pick the apple. You can just hold it up next to the fake tree.”

“The serpent didn’t tempt an _angel_ ,” Anathema pointed out with narrowed eyes, poking at Crowley’s phone.

“Ssssshut up, Anathema,” Crowley hissed, before turning his attention to Aziraphale. “Ready?” Aziraphale nodded and took the apple from him, holding it above his head near the leaves as if he were plucking it from the tree. A small crowd had gathered around them, and under the spotlights shining on to the artificial garden, it was starting to feel like being on stage again.

Crowley leaned in and hissed into Aziraphale’s ear, so close that the tip of his nose brushed against it. Crowley’s warm breath on his skin left Aziraphale clutching the apple so tightly that his fingernails left impressions in it. His instincts were telling him to draw his arms in across his chest and lean away from Crowley, but he forced himself to stay still and pose as if he were considering eating the forbidden fruit. Crowley’s phone produced an artificial shutter sound.

“#temptation!” Crowley grinned when he pulled away.

“Hashtag?” Aziraphale questioned. Crowley’s mouth hung open and he stared at Aziraphale incredulously before he started laughing.

“Ohhh, you actually had me going for a second there! Right, now how about I’m offering you the apple and you’re considering taking it?” Crowley beamed as he grabbed the apple from Aziraphale’s hands and held it out to him. Aziraphale felt like he’d been caught in a whirlwind, but cupped his hands together in front of him and looked down into them as Crowley pretended to offer him the fruit. Again, the sound from Crowley’s phone indicated that Anathema had taken the picture.

“Come on, Mr. Crowley!” she urged.

“Ok, ok, just one more. Oh, I know! Angel and demon become _friends_ in the Garden of Eden!” Crowley shuffled close to Aziraphale on the ledge until their sides were completely pressed together. He put his arm around him and leaned his head down on this shoulder. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how he was still upright, given that his insides had turned to liquid.

“Smile!” Anathema encouraged. Aziraphale was pretty sure that was directed at him since Crowley hadn’t stopped grinning for the past five minutes. Aziraphale took a deep breath and managed to force a smile onto his face, and even managed to ensure it didn’t waver when Crowley’s hand squeezed into the flesh just above his hip. “Ok, done.”

“No, wait!” Crowley’s grin widened, if that was even possible. His arm was still wrapped around Aziraphale. Anathema groaned loudly. “I _promise_ this is the last one. Just look at me instead of the camera,” he murmured softly. “Just turn and look at me.” Aziraphale did as instructed, finding himself once more with Crowley leaning close to him, looking deep into his eyes. The pretend shutter clicked once more.

“Mr. Crowley, I’m sorry,” Anathema said more gently this time, “but we really need to finish setting up.”

“Yes, ok, fine,” he relented, reaching out to take his phone from her before looking back at Aziraphale. “Let’s do more after, yeah? The show’s called _End of Days_ , let’s get some apocalyptic shots with your flaming sword. Maybe you can thwart my wiles and vanquish me or something!” he laughed, and Aziraphale chuckled politely. “I’m really glad you’re here. Hope you enjoy the show.”

It was only then that Crowley removed his arm from around Aziraphale’s waist and stood up to follow after Anathema.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is now earning its Oblivious Aziraphale tag. :-P
> 
> As always, thank you again for reading and for your comments and kudos! <3


	8. Smug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley performs The Invisible Touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the one absolutely-essential-that-I-do-it-today thing from my to-do list so here's another chapter!

As if by chemical diffusion, people gradually moved away from the bar and headed into the main part of the club to occupy the tables in front of the stage. Aziraphale fetched drinks for himself and Tracy, and then they settled into a pleasant conversation while they waited for the show to start. Small groups of people were standing around the tables, but the closer it got to the scheduled start of Crowley’s show, the more they disappeared to find seats.

Newt and Anathema appeared occasionally, Anathema fiddling with something or other and Newt only ever depositing or collecting something that didn’t involve any electronic components. At one point, Crowley emerged from the door to the side of the stage and Aziraphale caught his eye. Crowley smiled and took a step towards him, then grimaced and headed back the way he came.

A few minutes later, the lights were dimmed right down, the white noise of shuffling, talking and glasses clinking died down to a faint hum, and a woman of about Aziraphale’s age stepped up on to the stage and bent down to pick up a cordless microphone, flicking the switch on at the bottom.

“Good evening, good evening, lovely to see so many of you here tonight. Many of you know me, if not, hello, I’m Lin, I _can_ see some new faces... welcome to Eden! Don’t worry I’m not gonna be up here long, I know you didn’t all turn out tonight, looking absolutely _incredible_ might I say, to sit there and look at me. We all know why you’re here,” (her eyes drifted to Aziraphale then, but it was _definitely_ a coincidence, and her eyes were just scanning the room, she wasn’t using the eye contact technique), “and I hope you’re ready to be _seriously_ creeped out. Please welcome to the stage, the _phenomenal_ and slightly terrifying serpent of Eden, Anthony Crowley!”

The room erupted into applause, but it died down quickly in response to the spooky music that started to play and the billowing smoke gushing out of smoke machines at the foot of the stage and wafting up into the audience. Several people felt the need to add a few ‘ _ooooooooooh_!’s. Aziraphale supposed Anathema, rather than Newt, would be the one currently coordinating the smoke and music.

Crowley appeared on the stage amongst the smoke as if he’d been teleported. The applause became vigorous once more. He was wearing a microphone on a headset, just like he had in the theatre, and he hissed into it. The applause died down again.

“We are approaching the end of days. Well, some of _you_ might be, if you’re foolish enough to join me on the stage tonight. I’m just kidding, they stopped me bringing knives after last year.” About half the audience laughed and muttered things amongst themselves, apparently understanding to what he was referring. “Though perhaps tonight we shall meet some of those who have already reached the end of _their_ days. Maybe Bill from last year, sorry about that with the knives, mate,” Crowley joked to the ceiling as though addressing an unseen spirit.

“S’alright!” a deep voice yelled from the back of the room.

“That you, Bill? Didn’t kill ya then? Try again tonight?”

“Piss off!”

Crowley laughed, and so did the audience along with him. He held his arms out to his sides.

“I wanna start with something that is bound to creep you out as Lin promised you. Certainly if you’re one of the volunteers to join me on the stage. This might even be my favourite bit of magic,” he murmured into the microphone, winking at Aziraphale, who shivered in response. “So who’s feeling brave tonight? Put your hands up, don’t be shy.” Crowley caught Aziraphale’s eye again and very slightly shook his head. _What does that mean? Is he telling me not to volunteer?_ Aziraphale glanced down at the table and sighed.

Crowley selected two people with their hands up and gestured towards himself to encourage them up towards the stage.

“Watch your step. My intern fell off it earlier.” Oh, so apparently the near-fall Aziraphale had witnessed wasn’t Newt’s first of the day.

“I’m ok!” Newt called from behind the stage. Everyone laughed again, including Aziraphale.

“And you’ll stay that way if you promise not to touch anything!” Crowley called over his shoulder. Aziraphale grinned. Crowley’s demeanour with this smaller, adult audience was quite different from what Aziraphale had witnessed in the theatre.

Crowley reached his hand out to help both of his volunteers up onto the stage one at a time.

“Hi. What’s your name?”

“Agnes.”

“Agnes, and?” he turned to his second volunteer.

“Raven.”

“Raven, lovely to meet you. Anyone here gonna miss you?” Aziraphale remembered Crowley making the same joke with him on stage. “Just kidding, nothing terrible’s going to happen to you. Take a seat, Agnes, here, Raven, if you could sit there, thanks. Right, either of you got a problem with blindfolds?”

Crowley tugged a black silk blindfold out of his pocket and passed it between his fingers, wiggling his eyebrows. The crowd whistled and shouted out various lewd suggestions. Aziraphale quite emphatically told himself that he didn’t want to think about Crowley and that black silk blindfold right now. Crowley pinched his finger and thumb together and shushed the audience.

“Such dirty minds! I am _shocked_!”

“You can blindfold _me_ anytime,” Agnes joked with a wink.

“I’m sorry, my lovely, I don’t swing that way,” Crowley teased with a glint in his eye. The audience laughed again, including Agnes, but this time with the exception of Aziraphale, who swallowed hard and wondered if that meant what it sounded like. “Right, let’s blindfold Agnes then, goodbye Agnes,” he waved at her, tying the blindfold securely around her eyes as she pressed her hair down out of the way. “Oh Raven, you’re looking at me like you think you’ve made a horrible mistake.”

“I think I might have, yes.”

“Not at all, I assure you, all the horrible things are going to happen to Agnes.” Agnes cackled and pressed her hands to her face. Raven chuckled and nodded, and Crowley returned to addressing the audience. “What I’m about to show you reminds me of two things. Firstly, we are all connected. And secondly, it is easy for us to touch someone’s life, for good or for evil, without ever actually being physically near them, something that’s worth us all remembering. Think about how you might build someone up, rather than bringing them down.”

Aziraphale touched his hand to his heart. There were several cheers from the crowd and a brief, enthusiastic round of sincere applause, interrupted by an older man shouting, “You’re going soft!”

“Oh, shut up! I met an angel," Crowley grinned and briefly glanced towards Aziraphale, who felt the heat rise in his cheeks. "Check my Instagram. You know what that is? _INSTA-GRAM_.” The man shouted back something unintelligible. “It’s ok, don’t you worry about it, go back to carving your clay tablets, you’re fine.” Crowley pressed his fingertips to his forehead in mock despair, chuckling to himself, then trying to force himself to stop, which made him laugh even more.

“Everyone shut up, I was having a moment! I hate you all.” Aziraphale glanced around the room. Some people were laughing so hard they were clutching their sides. “Where were we? Oh, yes, messing with Agnes. You’ll all be the death of me, I swear. Anyway, my _point_ _is_ , well, let me show you. Remember I said we’re all connected? Well I’m going to strengthen that connection between Raven and Agnes here by manipulating their auras. Agnes, I want you to just relax and then afterwards you’re gonna tell us if you felt any strange sensations, like a buzzing or a touch or any pressure, ok?” She nodded.

Crowley started waving his arms around Raven and Agnes, pretending to blend their auras together somewhere in the middle. He wiggled back and fore like the serpent he was pretending to be, and then settled into what was more like a series of terrible dance moves, eliciting roars of laughter from the club’s patrons. Aziraphale couldn’t watch, he closed his eyes and then turned his head towards Tracy before he’d let himself open them.

Crowley stopped moving, touched his finger to his lips and poked Raven hard on his right shoulder twice. He then mimed undoing a knot between Raven and Agnes, as if disentangling their auras, and tugged at the bow on the back of the blindfold so it fell from Agnes’ eyes. She looked around, confused, and passed it to Crowley.

“Did you feel anything?” Crowley asked. Agnes nodded. “What happened?”

“You touched me, twice, here,” she said confidently, tapping her right shoulder. The audience gasped and started murmuring. “What?” Agnes asked, drawing her arms up to her chest and clutching her hands together under her chin.

“What happened, Raven? Did I touch Agnes?”

“No, you touched _me_ here, twice.” He also tapped his shoulder. Agnes’ mouth hung open.

“You _touched_ me! I know you touched me!”

Crowley held his hands up in front of him. “I touched _Raven_.” Agnes pressed her hands to her cheeks and swore.

“You really are creepy,” she teased.

“Yes. Yes, I am! Can we have a round of applause please for Agnes and Raven?” Crowley shook both their hands and thanked them for volunteering.

Aziraphale thought over what he had just witnessed. He could see why this might be Crowley’s favourite magic trick. He remembered what Crowley had said before about how the trick worked because of the way people’s brains were wired. He considered this, and closed his eyes and tried to put himself in Agnes’ and Raven’s positions on stage in his mind, and then smiled to himself smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spooky magic shows are my favourite. I can hide all sorts of things in my witch's hat. ;-)


	9. RP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the show, Crowley and Aziraphale discuss The End of Days and Crowley insists on taking one more photo.

In the rest of the show, Crowley conducted a mini séance, making a glass move around a table, chalk writing appear on a slate and a tambourine shake on its own. He had a volunteer predict who was a murderer and who was a victim just by looking at their photos, and used his psychic powers to help another volunteer work out the order in which members of an eighteenth century family had died. He had two volunteers use a pendulum to tap into their own psychic powers to reveal to them which cards in a packet were black and which were red, and they ended up with two piles with the colours perfectly separated. He also performed his fortune telling trick, which Aziraphale had already seen him do at the theatre. Nothing that Crowley did ended up being dangerous for his volunteers, which did leave Aziraphale wondering if there was any truth to what he had implied about the knives.

Crowley’s finale involved Anathema the witch capturing and chaining up the ‘demon’ and trapping him in a cage, which moments later he had escaped from, which he proudly announced (along with Hell’s glorious victory over Heaven) from his position at the back of the room at the opposite end from the stage. The audience erupted into an impassioned and prolonged round of applause, before Crowley wished them goodnight, the lights came up and the show was over. People started getting up from their seats and heading straight to the bar. Crowley started working his way around the room, talking and laughing with people.

“Oh, well, that was wonderful!” Tracy beamed. “He’s a cheeky little so-and-so, isn’t he?”

“I suppose he can be.”

“Saw him looking at you,” Tracy nudged him. Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, love! Do you want to stay and talk to him?”

Aziraphale turned back around to assess Crowley’s progress in working the room. He was about halfway back towards the stage.

“Yes, I should congratulate him on his performance.”

“All right,” she patted his hand affectionately, then turned her head and announced, “I’ll go and get us some more drinks,” standing and heading over to the bar. Almost immediately, Crowley flopped down into her chair in her place. When Aziraphale had seen him progressing across the room, he must actually have been heading straight for him.

“Hey, what did you think? Did you like it?” Crowley grinned.

“Oh, yes, of course. It was wonderful,” he smiled.

“Did you like The Invisible Touch?”

“Yes, I can see why it might be your favourite,” Aziraphale said, but his smile faded a little as he remembered Crowley shaking his head at him when he’d asked for volunteers. “Your volunteers seemed to enjoy themselves,” he added quietly.

“I... ughh....yeeeah I actually wanted to get _you_ up on stage to do it. But I know you weren’t that keen at the theatre so I thought I’d better ask you if you wanted to before, but then I thought it might look like we’d prearranged something if people had seen my pictures on Instagram, or if they saw me talking to you just before the show, so...” Crowley rambled. “Anyway, you probably would have worked out what I was doing. Did you?”

“Actually, yes, I believe I did. It’s as you said, the way our brains are wired...”

“Yes, all right, shhh!” Crowley reached out and touched his fingertip to Aziraphale’s lips. _Oh good Lord I’m practically kissing his finger._ Aziraphale froze and stared at Crowley, not daring to move and certainly not daring to part his lips to speak, that pretty much _would_ have involved kissing his finger. _Don’t panic. Don’t do anything. It’ll be over soon._ Crowley withdrew his hand and leaned closer to Aziraphale.

“What did you think of my take on The Family?”

“Oh...” Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady himself. “ _Very_ creative. And very _spooky_.” Crowley grinned and squeezed Aziraphale’s arm.

“So I know what other photo I want. Grab your flaming sword, come on.” Crowley leapt up onto the stage and undid the outer lock on the cage he had been ‘trapped’ inside by Anathema. He turned back and held out his hand to help Aziraphale up onto the stage. Aziraphale pressed his hand to his robes before reaching it out to grasp Crowley’s. Crowley squeezed it tightly, and it was so warm, and Crowley was tugging Aziraphale towards him, and Aziraphale just _breathed_ and focused on continuing to do so.

“Right, it is _the end of days_ , the final battle between Heaven and Hell, and the mighty angel has captured the wily demon and is going to slay him with his flaming sword!” Crowley was perched on the cage with his legs dangling into it by this point.

“Would a flaming sword kill a demon? Wouldn’t holy water be more effective?” Aziraphale suggested, determined to maintain the pleasant flow of their banter and to drift semi-consciously along with it.

“You’re not pouring water on me! D’you have any idea how long it takes to get my hair to look this good?”

All hopes of drifting semi-consciously were abandoned when, with that last remark, Crowley ran his fingers through his hair and winked at Aziraphale. With that, the realisation of what was happening struck Aziraphale hard, making the pressure build up in his chest and his hand tighten around his flaming sword. For the second time in as many weeks he was standing on a stage with _Anthony Crowley_ , who looked so sinfully delectable in his demon costume, and had given him all manner of things to think about tonight, like black silk blindfolds, that Aziraphale could really do with _not_ thinking about right now. Aziraphale’s breathing quickened.

“You all right?”

“I’m fine,” he croaked before clearing his throat. “No holy water, then. I shall just impale you with my sword.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up and he bit his bottom lip before scooting forward and folding himself up inside the cage.

“Shut the lid but don’t lock it,” Crowley instructed, and Aziraphale did as he was told. “Ah shit, we need someone to take the picture. D’you mind popping your head round that door and seeing if Anathema’s there?”

“You want me to just leave you here in the cage?”

“Yeah, m’fine. Maybe unhook the padlock and take it with you, I don’t trust these arseholes,” Crowley laughed. Aziraphale placed his sword down on the stage and removed the padlock before stepping down carefully and opening the door Anathema, Newt and Crowley had been coming and going through all evening.

“Anathema?” he called timidly.

“Yeah?” she called back, then appeared with a pack of playing cards in her hand, which she was shoving back into their box. “Oh, hi!”

“Hi, sorry. It’s...” Aziraphale began. Anathema groaned.

“He wants more photos, doesn’t he?”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she sighed, dropping the box of playing cards unceremoniously onto the floor and following Aziraphale back out into the club.

“I liked _your_ part tonight. You did an excellent job of vanquishing the demon!”

“Thanks, he certainly ensures I build up a lot of rage and frustration to channel into my performance.” Anathema cast her eyes around the club. “Where is he?”

“In the cage.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Anathema growled as she looked up to the cage and saw Crowley with one hand sticking out from between the bars, holding his phone out to her. She stomped up onto the stage and seized it from him.

“You know I have to write a review of your performance as my intern?” Crowley reminded her.

“You know _I_ have to write a statement about the quality of my placement?” she challenged.

“Fair enough. You know I think you’re wonderful, really. Just one last photo, please?” Crowley fluttered his eyelashes at her.

“Now you can see why I take his attitude. When he tries to be nice it’s just _creepy_ ,” Anathema leaned in and murmured to Aziraphale.

Crowley instructed Aziraphale to kneel beside the cage, sword raised above his head ready to plunge through the bars on the top of the cage to kill the vile demon. Crowley looked up at him with an expression of utter terror and defeat. Once Anathema had taken the picture, Crowley pushed up the lid of the cage with one hand and jumped out, taking his phone back from Anathema. Aziraphale passed her the padlock and she thanked him before heading back through the door.

“Brilliant!” Crowley beamed, looking down at his phone for a second before shoving it in his pocket and sitting down on the stage with his legs crossed under him. Aziraphale clutched his arms across his body like he was hugging himself. He wanted to sit next to Crowley, but it all felt too casual and inappropriate.

Crowley sighed. “Sit with me.” Aziraphale relented and crouched down, tugged on his white robes and tried, as elegantly as possible, to sit down on the stage with his legs stretched out in front of him. He saw Tracy walking back over towards their table next to the stage, carrying their drinks.

“Tracy!” Crowley called, and she smiled, approaching them and handing Aziraphale his drink.

“Hello, love. That was a wonderful show. I especially enjoyed the fortune telling,” she smiled, gesturing to her costume.

“But, of course! Come and join us?” Crowley patted the stage beside him.

“Actually I was hoping to find your lovely young assistant? If she doesn’t mind I’d like to get a photo with her to show my husband. It’s just a bit of fun, he has all sorts of silly notions about witches, you see,” Tracy giggled. Crowley tilted his head and smiled at her softly.

“Her name’s Anathema, she’ll be back through there.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the door.

“Thank you, love. Really well done on the show, it was fabulous.”

Crowley’s smile widened and he relaxed back, propping himself up on his elbows. Silence descended over them, and once more Aziraphale found it too awkward and felt the need to fill it.

“Do you do a lot of shows like this?” he asked.

“Spooky ones mostly just at Halloween, but I like doing shows in places like this, yeah. Smallish clubs in the local area. S’fun, really relaxed. I sometimes venture a bit further afield but then I have to go more _RP_.”

“I can’t imagine that’s necessary.”

“Look who’s talking. You could _read the news for the BBC_ ,” he teased with a wiggle of his shoulders, speaking the last few words with Received Pronunciation.

“Oh, stop it.”

“And now for the news in _your_ area,” Crowley joked, impersonating Aziraphale, who moved to swipe at him before he had time to think, but then his brain engaged and he stopped himself. “D’you know what? Forget the _BBC_ , you could be an honest to God _Professor of English Literature_ ,” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale’s heart plummeted into his stomach, and it was a good thing he’d complied with Crowley’s request to sit down because he suddenly felt very dizzy. Unshed tears left his eyes stinging and he turned away from Crowley, pressing his palms into the thin, black felt covering the temporary stage.

“Hey, you all right?” Crowley touched his arm gently, but Aziraphale didn’t turn back to him. “I’m sorry, I was only teasing. I really didn’t mean any offence.”

Aziraphale wasn’t offended, but he really didn’t want to get into this right now. He took a deep breath, dabbed at his eyes and forced himself to turn back, managing a small smile.

“None taken. I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“Tip top. Tickety boo,” Aziraphale joked, but Crowley was still looking at him with concern. A moment passed, and Crowley drew in a deep breath.

“So... Anything tonight where you don’t know how I did it?”

“Oh, yes. Plenty.”

“Good. Nice to know I still have some secretsssss.” Crowley hissed and stuck his tongue out like a snake. Aziraphale tried to laugh, but it emerged as a sort of amused sob.

Crowley placed his hand on his jacket pocket and tapped it for a while, before reaching inside and pulling out what looked like a crumpled up flyer for _The End of Days_. He handed it over to Aziraphale, who saw that the flyer had been ripped in half. He turned it over.

“My phone number. So we can talk magic and stuff. Or if you ever need more help getting stains out.”

“Oh yes, I’ve been meaning to say, your suggestion for that jam stain worked _very_ well, thank you!” Aziraphale’s brain had latched on to the safest part of what Crowley had said. Allowing himself to think right now about the fact he was holding Crowley’s phone number couldn’t possibly come to anything good, and he was still feeling pretty shaky.

“Glad to hear it. Send me a text so I’ll have your number and I can send you those pictures we took.”

“Oh, of course. Thank you.”

The thought of being able to look at those pictures of the two of them together as much as he wanted left Aziraphale tingling all over.

The door beside the stage opened, and Tracy emerged, cackling to herself as she looked at her phone. She held it out to show Aziraphale and Crowley the photo she had taken with Anathema.

“What’s that on her neck?” Crowley asked, narrowing his eyes and peering in close.

“We used lipstick to draw on an extra nipple!” Tracy cackled, and Crowley followed suit.

“Well, I’ll leave you both to enjoy your drinks; I have to finish my rounds,” Crowley whirled his finger around in the air. Crowley shuffled to the edge of the stage and gracefully hopped down. Aziraphale pushed his palms into the stage and tried not to appear too awkward as he stood up and stepped back to the edge of the stage. Once again, Crowley reached a hand out to him and helped him down.

“It’s been lovely to meet you, Tracy; I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Have fun showing your husband that picture!” Tracy grinned, and Crowley wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. Aziraphale was divided between fifty percent envy and fifty percent concern that he should be mentally preparing himself in case Crowley did the same to him. Crowley pulled back from Tracy with a warm smile before turning his attention to Aziraphale.

“Thank you so much for coming, angel.” Aziraphale’s body went rigid as Crowley opened up his arms and moved towards him, enveloping him in a hug. Thanks to the enormous wings, Crowley had to slip his hands low to get beneath them to be able to wrap his arms around Aziraphale. His hands came to rest extremely low on Aziraphale’s back, this thumbs stroking back and fore across the fabric of Aziraphale’s robes.

Aziraphale’s mind went blank, unable to function once all of his blood had rushed somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now Aziraphale has two flaming swords to worry about heeheheee. ;-)
> 
> Tracy earned that hug from Crowley, bless her! Aziraphale's far too oblivious to pick up on Tracy's ulterior motives and what she's trying to tell Crowley. :-P
> 
> The RP teasing is of course inspired by that wonderful scene in Staged ("To thine own self be true!")! :-D


	10. Forgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley start exchanging text messages, and Aziraphale can't cope when Crowley sends him the photos from the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New strategy: write this to get it out of my brain, and *then* work...?

The next morning, a quick glance at his watch revealed that it had been approximately fourteen minutes since Aziraphale had started staring at Crowley’s phone number.

_How has this happened? How do I have_ Anthony Crowley’s _phone number?_

He really didn’t have time for this; he had a busy day ahead of him. He desperately wanted to see the photographs Crowley had taken the night before, but as Crowley didn’t have his number, the only way for that to happen was for Aziraphale to send him a message first. But he was doubting whether it would be too intrusive to do so at (he looked at his watch again) 08:37 the morning after. Crowley might not even be awake. But if Aziraphale sent a message now, maybe he’d have the pictures to look at later when he got back home? He’d briefly considered attempting to set up an Instagram account and find the photographs on there, but had rapidly given up on that idea.

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” he admonished himself aloud, grabbing his phone and the ripped piece of the flyer and curling up on the sofa. He typed the number into his phone and checked it was correct five times before he saved it. Then he checked it again.

**Aziraphale: Happy Halloween! This is Aziraphale, by the way.**

**Crowley: hey how r u? still an angel?**

**Aziraphale: No, I’m afraid not. Still a demon?**

**Crowley: course i’m still a demon. was too drunk to de-demon myself before i fell asleep**

**Crowley: except the contacts obviously. don’t remember getting them out tho and don’t know where they are. hopefully not the back of my eyeballs**

**Crowley: i’ll show u**

**Crowley: <<image>>**

It had taken Aziraphale a total of nineteen minutes, if you include the fourteen he spent deciding whether or not to send a text message in the first place, and the four he spent deciding what to say, to type the eight words he had initially sent to Crowley. But Crowley’s messages were popping up on his screen so fast that Aziraphale couldn’t keep up. It reminded him of last night, Crowley’s boundless energy, flitting from one idea to the next while they posed for photographs in the artificial Garden of Eden.

But for a moment, those photographs weren’t the ones at the fore of Aziraphale’s mind. His fingers were trembling as he reached his index finger out, considering pressing the link to the image Crowley had just sent. The phone was jerking about a bit from the hand holding it trembling too, so he set it down on the sofa in front of him and stared at it for a while longer. He waited too long, and his screen automatically turned off. Aziraphale sighed and clutched his arms around himself, then he seized the phone, unlocking it and pressing the link without giving himself any more time to think.

Then he dropped it.

“Oh, good Lord!” Aziraphale gasped, bringing his hands up to his face. Various sensations were stirring in his abdomen that were getting harder and harder to ignore. Aziraphale clutched his knees to his chest, resting his chin on one of them. His heart was racing, and this was becoming such a frequent occurrence that it was threatening to leave him exhausted.

Aziraphale kept his head resting on his knee and felt around for his phone, drawing it back up towards his face. He unlocked the screen, closed his eyes, then took a deep breath before opening them again.

Crowley was lying on his bed, his head turned to the side showing his temporary snake tattoo and his gorgeous red hair messed up in all directions but still seeming to flow elegantly over the pale grey pillow. He’d evidently taken off his cloak, jacket and waistcoat, but he was still wearing his black shirt, though it was unbuttoned halfway. His eyes were closed, pretending to be asleep, and Aziraphale was grateful for it. He couldn’t possibly have coped with a photograph of Crowley looking straight into the camera looking like _that_. Aziraphale touched his fingertip to Crowley’s cheek.

As Aziraphale was looking at the picture, his phone had vibrated several more times. He could see the notifications popping up, and was torn between allowing himself to continue looking at the peaceful, beautiful image of Crowley ‘sleeping’, or switching windows to see what else he had said. He decided on the latter. He could come back to the picture later, and would have to figure out how to save it. _Is that creepy? That’s possibly a little creepy._

**Crowley: oh yeah I need to send you those pics we took together**

**Crowley: <<image>>**

**Crowley: <<image>>**

**Crowley: <<image>>**

**Crowley: <<image>>**

**Crowley: <<image>>**

And so, much quicker than he could possibly have hoped for, Aziraphale was now in possession of the images he had been fantasising about. And these he knew Crowley had shared online, which meant it _wasn’t_ creepy for him to save them.

Aziraphale clicked on the first link. He gasped and threw his phone back down onto the sofa.

“Oh, my God.” He licked his lips and grimaced at his phone as if it had just bitten him. He clutched his knees more tightly against his chest. “Oh, I can’t cope with this. Why am I doing this to myself?”

Aziraphale’s heart was pounding and his gut was experiencing a very strange wriggly, tingly sensation, on top of the _other_ sensation that had started the moment he had seen the photo of Crowley in bed, and he forced a shudder to try to dispel it before picking up his phone again. His eyes widened as he looked at Crowley, leaning right into his ear, a seductive, tempting expression on his face. Aziraphale touched his hand to his ear; he could almost feel Crowley’s warm breath in it again.

Then he opened the next photo. This one was easier to handle, Crowley’s expression more one of feigned innocence as he presented the apple to Aziraphale. The third one was lovely. They were both smiling at the camera, Crowley much more enthusiastically than Aziraphale, mind you, but it was sweet. It was as though they were actually _friends_. Aziraphale remembered the feeling of Crowley’s arm snaking under his wings and squeezing just below his waist. He stared at the photo for a few seconds, allowing that recollection and the sensations it brought with it to wash over him.

And then he opened the fourth one, and his phone fell from his hands and disappeared somewhere between his legs. Aziraphale threw his head back on to the armrest of the sofa and curled up into the foetal position. His calf came into contact with his phone, so he somewhat reluctantly extracted it and placed it beside him, staring at the black screen for a while as he steadied his breathing.

Not lifting his head, he reached out at an awkward angle and managed to unlock his phone. He turned it to face him as the photograph appeared once more on the screen, and tears welled up in his eyes. It was the loveliest photograph of himself he had ever seen. He looked so intensely happy and peaceful, an adoring smile on his face as he looked at Crowley. He wasn’t even embarrassed, as Crowley was looking back at him exactly the same way, and would hopefully have believed that Aziraphale’s expression was put on for the camera just as his was. Aziraphale lifted his finger and stroked Crowley’s hair on the screen.

Aziraphale jumped when his phone vibrated again, feeling as though he’d been caught doing something illicit. He quickly closed the image and opened his messages.

**Crowley: wanna get coffee?**

“What’s happening?” Aziraphale asked himself aloud, letting the logical part of his brain take over to type the response, as he couldn’t accept the offer even if he wanted to.

**Aziraphale: I’m afraid I’m busy doing a Halloween show of my own today.**

**Crowley: u didn’t say! knew u were stealing my secretssss**

**Crowley: what u got planned? U gonna wear ur costume again?**

**Aziraphale: No, I think my usual attire will do nicely. It’s nothing special, just the usual sorts of things.**

**Aziraphale: Oh, except I have decided to try the flaming sword trick!**

**Crowley: my idea**

**Aziraphale: Yes, I suppose it was. I’m sorry.**

**Crowley: forgiven. which version u doing?**

**Aziraphale: I’m going to let one of the children perform the reveal.**

**Crowley: ambitious**

**Aziraphale: Yes, I’m already starting to doubt myself but it’s too late to change it now. I suppose I was feeling inspired.**

**Crowley: good luck angel x**

**Aziraphale: Thank you.**

He stared at that **x** for about three minutes. He knew what it was: a slip, a mistake; and **angel** was of course just a reference to his costume. But for those three minutes, he let himself pretend that **angel** and the **x** meant something else. Then he forced himself up from the sofa to get ready for his performance.


	11. Amateur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale agrees to go out for coffee with Crowley.

After Aziraphale’s performance (and perhaps the less said about _that_ the better), he immediately checked his phone for any further messages from Crowley. His breath caught as soon as he saw the notification, and he eagerly opened the message.

**Crowley: hope it went well 2day. coffee 2moro instead?**

“Oh dear.”

Aziraphale put his phone down carefully on the coffee table. Snippets of conversations with Crowley started coming back to him and asserting themselves at the front of his mind.

  * _“D’you wanna come backstage? If you’re thinking about doing theatre shows one day?”_
  * _“Don’t often get to talk to another magician.”_
  * _“Could I come see you perform sometime?”_
  * _“We’ve all been there, my lovely.”_
  * _“What did you think of my take on The Family?”_
  * _“My phone number. So we can talk magic and stuff.”_



On top of all this, the way Crowley had talked so passionately about his performances, even starting to give away some of his _secrets_... Crowley clearly loved magic and Aziraphale had somehow led him to think the two of them were actually something _equivalent_ , like _colleagues_ , which was such an outrageous concept that Aziraphale actually barked out a laugh before collapsing forward with his head in his hands.

_How can he think of me like a colleague? I’m just_ playing _at this compared to him. And when he realises that, that I am absolutely nothing like him and I’m actually just one of his silly, obsessed fans, what is he going to think then? I didn’t mean to mislead him! I should never have said I was a magician. Of course he misinterpreted that to think I was somewhat like him, but I’m just an amateur. I’m nobody._

Aziraphale considered it more, then. Why Crowley might have been so keen to assume they were on the same level, that Aziraphale might be someone he could speak to as a colleague, and he did suppose that being a magician could be a rather lonely career in a way, most of your time spent on your own. Perhaps that’s why he’d chosen to take on interns, and continued to put up with Newt, and rushed out at the end of a show to speak to people before they left.

The absence of co-workers had actually been part of the _appeal_ of becoming a magician for Aziraphale.

He picked up his phone again and stared at it for a while longer, poking at the screen periodically to stop it from locking itself. Knowing he had misled Crowley into thinking he was more than he was made his intestines tie themselves into knots.

But Crowley had invited him out for coffee, and he so badly wanted to say yes. He _wanted_ to see Crowley again. It might be for the best; Aziraphale could talk more about his work and make sure Crowley recognised that they were in totally different leagues.

**Aziraphale: All right. What time were you thinking?**

**Crowley: whenever suits u**

**Aziraphale: Won’t you be recovering from Halloween-related shenanigans tomorrow?**

**Crowley: did u actually just say shenanigans omg u really r an angel**

**Crowley: no shenanigans this yr im afraid**

**Crowley: morning then? i could pick u up? 10?**

**Aziraphale: That sounds marvellous, thank you. I will see you then.**

**Crowley: even ur text msgs r RP**

**Aziraphale: I don’t think that’s possible.**

**Crowley: but somehow u make it possible x**

_This is surreal. This is utterly surreal._

Aziraphale was sitting at a small table in a quiet little coffee shop, fiddling with a ceramic bowl full of sugar lumps as he waited for Crowley, who had offered to pay, to bring over their drinks.

Crowley set a tray down on the table, and Aziraphale busied himself stirring the tea in his teapot while Crowley took a sip of his coffee.

“So, giving the children a flaming sword, how’d that work out for you?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale sighed heavily.

“I’d rather not talk about it. Although the parents said they wouldn’t mention it again.”

“Ngk, well that’s something I suppose. _Go on_ , what happened?”

“There may have been a... _small_ fire.”

“Bet the kids loved that!”

“Well, yes, actually they did,” Aziraphale managed to smile, then remembered his objective to make sure Crowley left this encounter recognising that they were on totally different levels when it came to magic. “But not for the reasons I would have hoped.”

“You really think it went badly?”

“Oh yes, I’m really not very good.”

“Please stop saying that you’re rubbish.”

“But I am _actually_ rubbish.”

“No, you’re not. I’ve been looking you up online.” Aziraphale froze with his tea cup suspended in front of him. He didn’t actually read anything that was written about him online. Thoughts of what Crowley might have seen came rushing into his mind. The time Harry the rabbit got out and munched through the American Ambassador’s prized vegetable garden. The time the birthday boy was so terrified of Aziraphale that he immediately started crying and then ran off to his room. The pirate-themed party, when Aziraphale had convinced the children they were going to be little pirates for the day, and they had proceeded to completely trash the house looking for ‘booty’.

As Aziraphale had been reliving all of these horrible moments, Crowley had been watching him, his arms folded on top of the table with his head tilted and a frown on his face.

“You’ve got _loads_ of great reviews, you know.”

“Well if that’s true they must have been written by a few lovely people taking pity on a silly old man.”

Crowley pushed his coffee away from him and let his head fall down on to his arms. Aziraphale grimaced and poured himself some more tea. Crowley dragged his head up and rested his chin on his hand.

“If you really think you’re that bad, why don’t you let me watch you perform? Maybe I can help?”

“Oh no, absolutely not! I would be far too embarrassed! I couldn’t bear the thought of being watched by someone who actually knows what they’re doing!”

“Fine,” Crowley conceded, but he had a devilish twinkle in his eye. “I don’t need to come see you, anyway.” Crowley picked up his phone and unlocked the screen. “Did you know there’s a YouTube video?”

“What?” Aziraphale cried, his eyes widening. Crowley turned his phone towards him and Aziraphale experienced a wave of nausea.

“Someone recorded one of your performances. You are actually _very_ good.”

“Stop teasing me. I’m not.”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Of course you would, you’re a demon.”

“Not since yesterday. Oh, Anathema messaged to say she has my contact lenses by the way. I don’t remember that happening at all!” Crowley laughed, but Aziraphale was holding his arms tight across his body, staring down into his cup of tea. “Can I ask you something?”

Aziraphale flicked his eyes upwards to look at Crowley and nodded.

“How’d you do the thing with the books?” Crowley poked at the screen of his phone a bit and then turned it round to show Aziraphale, who baulked, averted his gaze and pushed Crowley’s hand away as if he’d been offering him a plate of maggots. Crowley put his phone face down on the table. “Ok, I’m sorry. But you know the bit I mean? Where they pick a story book and a number for the page and the word and then you know what word it is?”

“Oh, well, that’s easy. I just memorise them.”

“You _memorise_ them? Every word? Every number that corresponds with _every_ word on _every_ page? You’re kidding?” Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley picked up his phone and started watching the video again. Aziraphale recoiled, but was relieved that the sound was turned off at least. Crowley narrowed his eyes and brought the phone up close to his face. “You must have, what, _fifteen_ books there?”

“Twenty.”

“Fuck me!” Crowley exclaimed, slamming his phone back down on the table. Aziraphale glanced around to see if his outburst had attracted any attention. “That is _very_ impressive! I wouldn’t have the patience to do _one_. I can barely remember the Magic Square!” he laughed, still watching the video, before he raised his head to look Aziraphale in the eye.

“Who did this?”

“I have no idea, I’ve never noticed anyone recording me.”

“No, I mean who made you feel like this? Like you’re not good when clearly you are? And don’t tell me what some kids have said, I love ‘em but kids can be little shits; they just try to see what they can get away with. You should hear the things they say to me! But d’you know, if they thought I was taking it to heart I know they’d be devastated. You focus on all the things that go wrong, but it’s like you’re ignoring all the things that go well! And, anyway, sometimes the stuff that goes wrong is what’s funny and memorable for people. We all have a laugh, it happens to me all the time, I don’t dwell on it. Half the time people think you did it on purpose.”

Aziraphale was still extremely tense, clutching his arms close to his body and moving his eyes from the sugar bowl to the tea pot to the tea cup to the coffee cup, but never to Crowley. Crowley reached a hand out towards him and Aziraphale stared at it, actually longing for Crowley to reach over the last few inches and place his hand on his shoulder, but Crowley sighed and put it back on his coffee cup.

“I know you love magic, and I know you know it’s supposed to be fun. So who did this to you? Who made you feel like this? You don’t have to tell me. But whoever it was, I don’t see why you’d believe them and not me. I know what I’m talking about, I do,” Crowley finished with a gentle smile. He returned his attention to his coffee, and Aziraphale picked up his tea cup, and they didn’t speak for quite some time.

Aziraphale’s mind was spinning in circles. He hadn’t intended to, but he had latched on to a tiny thread of hope that Crowley might be right, but if he was, and Aziraphale was actually _good_ , and there was actually no real reason why he and Crowley shouldn’t be friends... That rabbit hole was even deadlier than the one Crowley had been trying to explore, so Aziraphale decided to open up to him.

“It was my ex, I suppose,” Aziraphale replied.


	12. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale completely opens up to Crowley, and Crowley has a proposition for him.

Crowley started, clearly not expecting Aziraphale to respond. He set down his coffee and gave Aziraphale his full attention.

“Your ex? They weren’t supportive?”

“You could say that. It’s rather a long story; I hope you’ll forgive me if I omit some of the details.” Crowley nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I’m afraid it’s not a terribly interesting story, however. It’s just that, well, I was rather successful in my career before this.”

“Before you became a magician, you mean?”

“Yes. I put aside a lot of money, invested it well.”

“Explains the massive gorgeous house.”

“Well, yes, I bought it when prices were much lower than they are now, and I’d paid that off too.”

“What was it you used to do?”

“Ah, well. Actually I was... a Professor of English Literature.”

“You’re joking?” Crowley clenched his fist and punched it into the air. “OF COURSE YOU WERE! I am _so_ good! Sorry, but come _on_ you have to admit that’s good? Imagine if I’d done that on stage! People think my psychic powers are just tricks but _clearly_ not,” Crowley grinned, shaking his fist in triumph. “Oh, hey, that’s why you...” he began more softly, and Aziraphale nodded, remembering how he’d turned away from Crowley when he’d made that joke about him sounding like an English professor at the club. “I’m sorry, angel. I take it you didn’t enjoy it?”

Aziraphale had spoken to Tracy about all of this, in bits and pieces over the years, but he had never explained it all to someone _new_ , someone who hadn’t seen any of it while it was happening. He took a deep breath and the floodgates opened.

“I did, at first. Getting to read and write a lot of the time as part of my job was certainly a bonus. I published several very successful books.” Crowley’s hand twitched towards his phone, but he quickly retracted it.

“I was invited to speak all over the country. I supervised some incredibly talented PhD students in creative writing, and supported them to produce some of the most wonderfully original and moving works I’ve ever read. But the more success I had, the more was expected of me. I became one of the department’s youngest academics to be promoted to professor. I ended up working over eighty hours a week to try to get everything done: the administration, the teaching, the grant proposals, the public engagement, the supervision, the committees, the conferences... It was never ending! I _had_ loved my work but it became my entire life and left me constantly stressed and exhausted. I started having panic attacks. There were these courses to help you learn how to deal with them, but those just took up time too. And the constant evaluation and criticism from colleagues, the constant push for _more_ , for bigger and better things. That’s never really been me. I’m much more someone who appreciates the slow and steady and likes things to stay just the way they are.

“I’d been a relationship with someone for five years but it felt like we never saw each other, and when we did I was too tired to even hold a conversation. One day I realised that just because I’d been doing this work for over two decades, I didn’t _have_ to do it. Somehow it had never occurred to me before. I’d felt trapped, like I had no way out. I suddenly realised I could just leave, _well_ , at the end of the academic year of course, I’m not a complete deserter,” he chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I had enough money behind me. I could do whatever I wanted. Something that would make me happy. Something just for me.”

“So you did?” Crowley smiled. Aziraphale nodded. “And your ex... disapproved?”

“He thought I was insane. He thought, like everyone else seemed to, that if you had success you should be striving for even more of it, and keep striving for as much of it as you could possibly squeeze out of life until the day you died. People say it’s a blessing to achieve highly, but it does leave you feeling like you have no other choice but to do so. He said I was wasting my potential. Wasting all the skills and experience I’d built up over the years.”

“He sounds like an arsehole.”

“Yes, it turned out that he rather was,” Aziraphale conceded. “I’ve always absolutely _loved_ magic,” Aziraphale continued, feeling the sombreness lift from him and his face light up. “I'd never considered it as a career before, but it occurred to me that people perform magic, and I’m a person, so why not?” he chuckled. “And I was no stranger to speaking in public and engaging an audience, of course. My ex _begrudgingly_ came to see me perform. Perhaps he thought I’d actually be good at it? That I could be successful, like _you_?”

“Aziraphale, I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m particularly successful. I do shows in little clubs every week and provide entertainment at weddings and fortieth birthday parties! They only have me at the theatre ‘cause I’m local and people round here know me a bit. But I don’t care, I’m happy doing what I’m doing.” Crowley studied Aziraphale for a while and sighed. “Anyway, you were saying? Your show didn’t go well?”

“I _thought_ it had. I did make one mistake, I dropped a set of cards that were in a particular order and didn’t quite manage to set them right. It was a bit like your red and black sorting trick, actually. Other than that the performance went fine.”

“And you had fun?”

“Oh, I loved it, and I really loved putting together the material, writing little stories to weave through the tricks, you know? But my ex said it was terrible. He said I was the worst performer he’d ever seen, and that it was the most humiliating experience of his life. He broke things off after that. It didn’t happen all at once but I suppose I keep questioning the decision I’ve made. Everything around us is constantly telling us how we should live, that your career and what you earn define your worth. Certainly none of the definitions of success involve reaching the height of your career in your forties and then throwing it away to do children’s parties. Every time something goes wrong I suppose it feels like I’ve been very foolish in throwing that all away. I was very good at what I did before.”

“But you’re happier now, right?”

“Oh, yes, there’s no comparison! I have the time to be creative, to read just for pleasure! And if I do find myself in another relationship I will actually have time to spend with him, and perhaps even be conscious for it!” he laughed. “And I do love performing, and I know you think I focus on the negatives, and perhaps I do, but there have been so many fantastic moments and so many wonderful people. I really do love it.”

“Thank you for telling me, angel. Do you wanna know what I think?” Crowley murmured, leaning in close across the table.

“Please.”

“ _I_ think... your ex can go fuck himself. Probably just jealous if he couldn’t afford the freedom to do what made him happy. That's _my_ definition of success. I also think you happen to be a _very_ good magician. And I _also_ think I can prove it to you, and don’t worry, I’m not gonna make you watch the video or read the reviews. Do my Christmas show with me. It’s just one night in the studio at the community theatre, just before panto season. Really laid back, light-hearted, family-friendly stuff. A hundred people maximum. No big deal.”

Aziraphale sank back into his chair and took a sip of his tea. His mouth was actually very dry, he couldn’t quite believe he had just unleashed all that on Crowley, who he’d only met _two weeks_ ago, and he suddenly felt very exposed, like he’d given away too many of his own secrets. But then he forced himself to stop worrying about what _he_ had said, and to think about what _Crowley_ had said. First he let a self-satisfied smile grace his lips, imagining Crowley telling his ex to go fuck himself. Then he felt a warm glow rising in his chest as he digested Crowley’s praise. Then he realised what Crowley was asking of him, and started shaking his head.

“Please? You’ll be so good,” Crowley wheedled. “There isn’t even a stage. Just a patch of floor.”

“Crowley, you’re being ridiculous! Panto season starts in five weeks!”

“I know, don’t worry, I’ve already written and prepped the show, I just need a bit of help with the performance. I need Anathema hiding in the wings for this one getting stuff ready and swapping things over, there’s not enough space in the studio to just set it up and leave it. So that would leave me with _Newt_ , and you’re not gonna subject me to _that_ are you? Besides, the audience won’t spot any of my devious moves if they’ve got you to look at,” Crowley winked.

Aziraphale’s breath caught and he felt the heat rising in his face again.

“Oh, very funny,” he growled. Crowley let his head flop back down to the table with a _thunk_. A valid response, Aziraphale conceded. Crowley was such a sweet man, clearly trying very hard to help build his confidence. Even if that did involve saying things that were ridiculous, Aziraphale should do more to appreciate the effort. Perhaps even say kind things in return. Several times now Crowley had reached out to him, physically and metaphorically, and on each occasion, Aziraphale had either simply endured it, or rejected it. He took a deep breath.

“I hardly think anything could distract an audience from you.” Crowley raised his head from the table.

“ _Thank you_ , Aziraphale. What a lovely compliment,” he replied pointedly.

Aziraphale regretted deflecting Crowley’s compliment rather than just replying in that manner to begin with, knowing it would have earned him a different response and wondering what that might have been. Then his cheeks flushed, realising how close that would have been to _flirting_.

Crowley leaned in close to him again. “The more you fight my compliments the more they’ll keep trying to pull you in, like... whatever it is that keeps pulling you in when you fight it. You’re doing the show. Yes?”

“Oh, all right,” Aziraphale huffed. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I mean, yes. Please. Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“And you’ll do your book thing? Please? It’s brilliant and it’s so different from anything I do!”

“Yes, ok. I’ll do the _book thing_.”

They finished their drinks and headed back to Crowley’s car, Aziraphale steeling himself to take his life into his hands once again.

“Quicksand!” Crowley shouted out once they were about halfway back to Aziraphale’s house.

“What about quicksand?”

“That’s what keeps pulling you in if you fight it.”

“Well, drowning in quicksand doesn’t sound very appealing.”

“’M not gonna drown you, angel. And I’m not gonna give up on you either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this story and supporting my endeavours to procrastinate! Your comments and kudos mean a lot to me. <3
> 
> I chose not to name Aziraphale's ex but is anyone else picturing Gabriel?? ;-)
> 
> I should be able to make my mind up soon how many chapters this will actually have, but not too many more I don't think. It'll end just after their Christmas show. ;-) Then I can get my work done!!


	13. Possessive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rehearsals and preparations for the Christmas show begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pretty sure this is going to be 16 chapters. We're nearly there now! <3

**Crowley: here’s the link to google docs with all the stuff on for the christmas show :)**

**Crowley: find a good place for your book thing**

**Crowley: and put comments on if you have ideas or wanna change stuff**

**Crowley: just waiting for the comm theatre academy to sort out when they need the studio then i’ll know when we can rehearse**

**Crowley: thank you so much for helping me ur not gonna regret it x**

As usual, Crowley’s messages came in thick and fast while Aziraphale stared helplessly at his phone, wondering how to reply. He set his phone down and went to the kitchen to make a cup of a cocoa before curling back up on the sofa and picking it back up, finding another message from Crowley.

**Crowley: oh hey i’ve also thought of something i wanna try with your flaming sword. bring it to rehearsals pls? :)**

**Aziraphale: I’m afraid I can’t do that.**

**Crowley: ?**

**Crowley: lost it already have u?**

**Aziraphale: I gave it away.**

**Crowley: u wot?**

**Aziraphale: I gave it away! I just did a birthday party for a lovely eleven-year-old named Pepper, and she was terribly disappointed because all of her birthday presents were too “girly”. She said such lovely things about my show, and she was very impressed with the sword, so I decided it would be nice to let her keep it.**

**Crowley: u too nice. glad to c u responding well to flattery now tho**

**Crowley: hope it’s not just when it comes from kids ;)**

**Crowley: i assume all incendiary material was removed first?**

**Aziraphale: Of course! I’m not that much of a disaster!**

**Crowley: glad ur show went well angel. will let u kno when i can about rehearsals x**

* * *

Aziraphale arrived at the community theatre about forty minutes earlier than Crowley had said they would start their first rehearsal. Their performance wouldn’t take place in the main auditorium, which itself only seated about three hundred people, but in the small studio off to the side upstairs.

Aziraphale enquired at the reception desk, and was told that Crowley was already in the studio, and that he was more than welcome to head up and join him. He found the door to the studio easily, pushing it open and stepping inside. It was dark, with the black floor, walls, chairs and ‘stage’ curtains exaggerating the effect of the lack of windows and low intensity artificial light.

Just as Crowley had said, there wasn’t actually a stage at all. The space was like a large drama studio, hence the name, Aziraphale supposed, with black curtains at one end that could be drawn in various configurations to keep necessary secrets concealed and to form a space in which someone would perform. The audience would be seated in blocks around the other three walls.

There was no immediate sign of Crowley, and Aziraphale couldn’t hear any sound, so he put down his box of children’s books and tentatively started looking behind the black curtains. He finally found Crowley, curled up on the floor with his head resting on his folded-up coat, one arm tucked under it and the other draped over his stomach. He looked very much like he had in the photograph he’d sent to Aziraphale, except his hair was tied back in a messy bun, with just a few loose strands falling over his face. Aziraphale desperately wanted to reach down and brush them away from his eyes, and just as he was thinking of it, Crowley’s arm reached up and did exactly that.

“You’re _early_ ,” Crowley mumbled, just barely opening his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry for being early. Being sorry is for when you’re late because you’ve only just got out of A&E because you _electrocuted_ yourself.”

“Newt?”

“Newt.”

“Were you sleeping?”

“Mmm, yeah. I do weird hours, sometimes just gotta sleep when and where I can. Literally fell asleep leaning up against a wall once,” he chuckled, drawing himself up to rest on his elbow and opening his eyes more fully. “Had a show last night, then I was at the uni early this morning meeting a new intern for next semester. This show’s gonna be the last one Newt and Anathema help me with, they’ve nearly done all their hours now.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll miss them.”

“Yeah, I’ll miss _Anathema_. At least I know where to go now if I need a curse putting on someone or a potion brewing or something. And, if I want to buy something new and can only justify it when the old one breaks, I’ll just get Newt to look at it for three seconds and job done.” Aziraphale smiled.

“Well, I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I’ll go and get a cup of tea in the café and come back in a while.”

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley mumbled, settling back down with his arm underneath his makeshift pillow. Aziraphale took off his coat and laid it on top of him. Crowley opened his eyes and blinked, looking down at Aziraphale’s beige coat, which, Aziraphale noted, had rather ruined the camouflage of Crowley’s usual black attire amongst the black of the studio. Crowley sighed and smiled at him before his eyes fluttered closed again.

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s sleeping form covered by his coat. It reminded him of the night they had first met, when Aziraphale had covered his programme and the Magic Square card Crowley had given him with his coat when he’d left the auditorium during the interval. There was a protective possessiveness to it. _Don’t touch. Mine._

When Aziraphale finished his tea and returned to the studio, Crowley was awake and it looked like Anathema and Newt had just arrived, as they were shrugging off their coats and draping them over the back of a couple of chairs. Aziraphale noticed the same had been done with his own coat, and smiled gratefully at Crowley. Anathema and Newt began unpacking things from a box trolley.

“Right, what I think we should focus on today is working out where we’re going to set everything up, where we can leave things ready for the next trick, you know, sorting out how much space we’ve got to work with. And we should check what the audience can see from different angles, and experiment with the curtain configurations a bit. But first, you guys have to see this!” Crowley beamed, and Aziraphale felt a flutter of excitement, which was rapidly quashed when Crowley reached down and picked up his box of books and held it out to Newt.

“Newt, pick one of the books, then open it to any page, and count down to the... I dunno, ninth word.”

Newt’s forehead wrinkled, and he hesitantly reached into the box and pulled out one of the children’s books. He flicked it open randomly and counted to the ninth word.

“Ok...”

“What page you on?”

Newt looked down. “Twelve.”

Crowley turned expectantly to Aziraphale and raised his eyebrows.

“Bicycle.”

Crowley grabbed the book from Newt and examined the page himself before screeching with excitement and clutching it to his chest. Aziraphale blushed and started running his fingers through his hair.

“Ugh... incredible. Right, get on with it you pair, set up all the stuff so we can see how much space we need and start trying out these different curtain configurations.”

“That was amazing!” Anathema beamed as she sidled past Aziraphale, scooping up a box and resting it on one hip as she carried it back towards the curtains. Once she’d gone, Crowley slinked up behind him and grasped his shoulders.

“Told you,” Crowley whispered in his ear.


	14. Terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale starts panicking before their performance, but Crowley is there to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the fluff!!!! I think all my teeth just fell out.

Crowley had scheduled rehearsals once a week, and everything was going extremely well. They had worked out a system for getting the props Crowley and Aziraphale would need ready, with Anathema setting them up and placing them just behind the curtain to the right hand side of the stage, while Newt would take away the things they’d finished with and hide them to the left, breaking them down and packing them away as he went. Given the choice of who would take the role of setting up and who the role of breaking down, there hadn’t really been any contest. Newt was in good spirits about the show, however, and actually hadn’t broken anything for at least two weeks.

Crowley had asked Aziraphale to pretend to be him and run through his own parts of the performance, so that Crowley himself could scoot around the chairs in the audience, squatting down to mimic people sitting at different heights and zipping between the different sides of the room to check how much their audience might be able to see. Aziraphale had managed to do so successfully, and was feeling rather pleased with himself, not just because of the reflection on his own level of skill, but because Crowley had deemed him worthy of sharing his _secrets_.

Aziraphale was finding it wonderful to spend so much time with Crowley. He was still stunned by how gorgeous he was every time he entered a room, and his heart still raced whenever Crowley stood close to him, or smiled at him, or did _anything_ near him really, but Aziraphale had got used to it to the extent that he was able to bring his reactions a little more under his control.

When they sent each other text messages, **angel** and **x** seemed to have stuck on Crowley’s part. Aziraphale had spent far too much time debating whether or not to add an **x** at the end of his own messages. He couldn’t quite seem to find the courage to do it.

**Crowley: relative of yours angel?**

**Aziraphale: I’m sorry?**

**Crowley: <<image>>**

Aziraphale clicked on the link. It was a photograph of a golden retriever wearing a fluffy white halo.

**Aziraphale: Yes, but we’ve rather lost touch I’m afraid.**

**Crowley: lol i knew it**

**Crowley: it was the eyes x**

Aziraphale typed a response and stared at it for a whole eleven minutes.

**Aziraphale: they look more like your eyes x**

He pressed send. Almost immediately his phone vibrated and he was trembling when he opened his messages.

**\--- Message delivery failed ---**

And for the first time in twenty-two years, Aziraphale used the f-word.

He deleted the message, feeling a little relieved to be honest, and shuffled into the kitchen to make a cup of cocoa to help him calm down. Mostly, his whirling mind was telling him to stop being ridiculous, but there was a little voice at the back holding up placards of things Crowley had said or done that might constitute evidence that _maybe_ there actually was more to things like **angel** and **x**. Stroking his thumbs over his back when he hugged him, squeezing his waist when he put his arm around him, whispering in his ear, running his hand down his arm, sending him a photograph of himself in bed...

But it was much too risky to think about that. All Aziraphale was aware of was a _possibility_ of something, and that wasn’t enough to risk ruining the wonderful friendship that had developed between them.

**Crowley: show is going to be awesome**

**Crowley: next yr we should do end of days together as an angel and a demon**

**Crowley: i’ll get you a new flaming sword x**

And _this_. Aziraphale was enjoying preparing for the Christmas show with Crowley (Crowley always just called it ‘the Christmas show’, probably because he wasn’t immensely proud of its rather mundane and cheesy _actual_ name ‘The Magic of Christmas’, which apparently the theatre had requested). Aziraphale knew it was going to be an incredible experience performing alongside Crowley, and the fact that he was already suggesting they do it again... he didn’t want anything to jeopardise that.

**Aziraphale: Would an angel and a demon really be working together at ‘the end of days’?**

**Crowley: we can come up with a good story around it. maybe they’re working together to try to STOP the apocalypse?**

**Aziraphale: Yes, that could work.**

**Crowley: shame it’s only suitable for adults really. couldve got a kid up and said they were the antichrist and threatened to kill em lol**

**Aziraphale: You’re despicable.**

**Crowley: u luv me really x**

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I’m rather afraid I do.”

* * *

When the day of their performance finally arrived, Crowley had arranged for them to have uninterrupted access to the studio all day before their performance in the evening, so the four of them arrived early to get everything set up in plenty of time. Crowley treated them all to a very early dinner in the theatre café, since it was Newt and Anathema’s last day working with him, and then they headed back up to the studio.

Aziraphale was making some final checks, making sure he knew where everything was and that Newt hadn’t accidentally moved anything he wasn’t supposed to. Everything was the same as before, he really needn’t have worried, except he did notice that a very small bag had appeared on the right hand side of the stage just behind the curtain. He picked it up and looked inside, and found four tiny parcels wrapped in Christmas paper. One was labelled _Anathema_. One was labelled _Newt_. Two, one of them red and the other green, were labelled _Aziraphale_. Aziraphale grinned and bit his bottom lip, touching his hand to his heart. Crowley was so much sweeter than he liked to let on. Aziraphale made sure the bag looked untouched, then furtively left the studio, an idea forming in his mind.

When Aziraphale returned, evening had set in, and even without windows, something in the air had changed in the studio. It was all starting to feel rather real. Aziraphale smiled at the others, who were lounging on chairs that would soon be occupied by the audience, and took himself away to hide behind one of the curtains and try to get his treacherous heart rate and breathing under control. He’d only been gone a few minutes before Crowley came looking for him.

“Hey, you all right?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale shook his head. “You’re nervous?”

“No, I’m not at all nervous. I’m completely _terrified_.” Aziraphale clenched his fists and then wrapped his arms around himself.

“It’s just ‘cause it’s somewhere you haven’t performed before. Always throws me a bit too when I go somewhere new. Once you get into it you’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I do hope so. I really don’t want to let you down.”

“Oh, angel,” Crowley reached out and stroked his hand tenderly down Aziraphale’s arm. “You could never let me down. Trust me, it’s all going to be perfect. Even if things go wrong they will be perfectly imperfect, ok?” Aziraphale nodded. “Want some water?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath and looked down at his hands. He could actually _see_ them shaking, and Crowley touching him like that hadn’t done anything to help calm his racing heart.

“Here you go,” Crowley said, returning a few seconds later with a bottle of water.

“My hands are shaking. People will be able to see it.”

“Nah, not if you put extra flourish on your movements. Just do everything a bit bigger, a bit faster. You’re not doing anything fiddly tonight so it’ll be fine.”

“You almost sound like you’ve experienced this.”

“Of _course_ I have! Had to abandon one trick completely once when I realised I was shaking too much to even attempt something requiring the level of dexterity I needed. But it was fine, no one knew.”

Aziraphale nodded and sipped his water, placing the bottle down on the table beside him.

“Anything else I can do?” Crowley offered, tilting his head. Aziraphale shook his head. “Y’sure? D’you want a hug?”

Aziraphale _did_ want a hug. And, realistically, there had to be a limit on how fast someone’s heart could actually beat, so he didn’t see how a hug from Crowley could actually make it any worse. There was the added advantage that Crowley wouldn’t read anything into his rapid pulse and fast, shallow breathing. He would be brave. He would be brave and say, “Yes please.”

Crowley smiled and stepped forward to wrap his arms tightly around Aziraphale. Crowley pressed his body as closely as possible up to him and even nuzzled his face into Aziraphale’s neck. He began gliding his fingertips rhythmically up and down the length of Aziraphale’s back, which was undoubtedly _intended_ to be soothing. Aziraphale just clutched Crowley tightly to him, grasping hard at the fabric of his shirt and then relaxing his grip out of concern for Crowley’s appearance, wanting him to look smart for their show. They stayed like that for a long time.

Surprisingly, after a while, Aziraphale actually found his breathing start to settle. He released his grip on Crowley slightly, and was brave enough to let his own hands wander over Crowley’s back. He moved one up to Crowley’s neck, grazing the hair at his nape. Crowley’s hands stopped where they were, and now it was his turn to grab hold of Aziraphale’s shirt, pulling him even tighter against him, just for a moment, before they returned to stroking his back.

“This ok, angel? ‘s it helping?”

“It’s helping very much. I’m just afraid of letting you go,” he mumbled into Crowley’s shoulder.

“Then don’t, we have time. I promise it’s going to be ok. Hey, this’ll take your mind off it. You know it’s Anathema and Newt’s last night? When you’d popped out earlier I came back here and caught them snogging under a table!”

Aziraphale pulled back a little so he could see Crowley, but they both kept their arms around each other.

“You’re joking?”

“Nope. Knew it would happen eventually.” They both laughed and shook their heads.

“How much time do we have?” Crowley extracted his left arm from Aziraphale to look at his watch.

“Still got half an hour before they open the door.”

“I think I might take a leaf out of your book and try having a lie down. I assume the floor is clean?”

“Clean enough for me to nap and for Anathema and Newt to...”

“Yes, right.”

Aziraphale and Crowley let go of each other, and Aziraphale carefully lowered himself to the floor, focusing again on just breathing in and out. He tucked one arm up under his head as he had seen Crowley do before, and shuffled so that he was lying down on his side. Crowley did the same, and they lay there facing each other.

“I’m so glad we’re doing this together.”

“Yes. Me too. I’m sorry I’m such a wreck.”

“You’ll be fine.” Crowley reached out towards Aziraphale’s free hand, which was resting on the floor between them. He hesitated. “’S this ok?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his and squeezed it, running his thumb back and fore over his knuckles. “As long as you’re not trying to read my mind,” Aziraphale teased.

“Only a little bit.”

“Well, please stop it. I imagine it’s rather like entering a warzone.”

“What’s it fighting over?”

“You’re the one reading it.”

“Ha! Who’s winning?”

“I’m fairly sure everyone’s losing.”

“Awww.” Crowley squeezed tighter, then brought Aziraphale’s hand up to his lips to press a quick kiss to the back of it. “Everything’s gonna be fine. You made the right decision, you know, with everything. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve to know that you can have anything you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh how I love them!!! <3


	15. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley perform their Christmas show.

There was, of course, no stage to dress, but the theatre had provided a Christmas tree, which Anathema had placed at the front of the _curtain of secrecy_ for which she had responsibility. One of Newt’s jobs in the run-up to the show had been to create a chimney and fireplace out of card and paint it, and it had actually ended up looking very effective. He forced it to stand up on its slightly wobbly base in front of the secret curtain on his side of the stage, receiving praise from the others about how good it looked. As he’d pointed out, he was fine with any task that didn’t involve anything with wires. Crowley had said he just wished he’d realised sooner.

Newt and Anathema, both now wearing elf hats, plastered friendly smiles on their faces as they opened the door to the studio and started welcoming the audience. Crowley and Aziraphale were still hidden behind the curtains, but had got up from the floor about fifteen minutes ago, after lying together mostly in silence, with Aziraphale running through the show in his mind one last time.

When they had stood, Aziraphale had reluctantly released Crowley’s hand, but Crowley had put his arm around his shoulders and given him one last quick squeeze before leaving to put on his silver, sparkly Christmas scarf and the traditional black top hat that he would be wearing for the performance.

Aziraphale was talking to himself silently.

_You should be thinking about the performance._

_I know the performance inside-out and upside down and back-to-front, it won’t do me any good to go over it any more._

_It won’t do you any good to think about Crowley either._

_It always does me good to think about Crowley. I wonder what those presents are that he’s got for me?_

Thinking about the presents, Aziraphale absentmindedly adjusted his sleeve and patted down his left forearm, holding it out against his right to check there was nothing obviously different. It wouldn’t be much of a trick up his sleeve if Crowley could see it.

From then on until the show began, Aziraphale allowed himself to think of nothing but Crowley. He thought of how generous and kind he was, and how he had looked after him when he had panicked. He thought about how he had laid beside him, holding his hand and helping him to feel calm, and how he had kept telling him how much he believed in him. Aziraphale was determined to deliver the best performance of his life tonight. In his life _before magic_ , he had addressed audiences in great halls seating over eight hundred people, but _this_ performance would be the best. This silly Christmas show in a little studio in his local community theatre would be the greatest achievement of his life, because it had already made him the happiest he had ever been, and like Crowley said, freedom to do what makes you happy is the true measure of success.

What Aziraphale was even more determined to do was to make sure that, when it was all over, he let Crowley see how much he had enjoyed it, how proud he was of what they had achieved together, and how grateful he was for everything Crowley had done. Newt’s chimney could catch fire (despite the absence of anything flammable), Anathema could get her hair caught in the Christmas tree and drag it crashing down and scattering baubles all over the floor, or Aziraphale himself might fall off the black metal frame he was using for the balloon pop trick, and none of it would matter, because if it did happen, it would be _funny_. And Crowley would laugh and somehow make it look like they’d planned it all along to entertain the audience, like in a pantomime.

Aziraphale would treasure his memory of this night, whatever happened, for the rest of his life.

Crowley rejoined him, top hat placed on his head and ready to go. Aziraphale beamed at him, and Crowley ran his fingers through the ends of his hair. He looked absolutely stunning.

“I’ll miss you in this first bit,” Crowley said, adjusting the knot in his shiny little scarf. It was kind of him, Aziraphale thought, to so unwaveringly continue to take every opportunity to make him feel good about himself. Hopefully after the show, when Crowley would see how successful he had been in boosting Aziraphale’s confidence, he would no longer feel the need to do so.

“It’s one trick, my dear, then I’ll be out there with you.”

Crowley grinned and patted Aziraphale’s shoulder before stepping out from behind the curtain to stand in front of the audience. Aziraphale half-listened to Crowley’s introduction, as he himself started climbing up the black metal frame behind the curtain in the centre of their ‘stage’, completely hidden from the audience.

“And what’s Christmas all about kids?”

One child, who didn’t sound very young, shouted out, “Presents!”

“ _Presents_?” Crowley responded with feigned incredulousness. “Well then, shall we do some magic with _presents_?”

Aziraphale zoned out from Crowley’s performance for a moment as he focused on scooting across the black metal shelf on top of the frame and getting into position. He lay there for a few minutes, and when he heard his cue (‘ _are you sure there’s nothing inside it?_ ’), Aziraphale reached out a pole with a cuddly toy dolphin attached to the end of it with a tiny hook.

This was the same trick he’d seen Crowley perform at the big theatre, presumably aided by Anathema, but that time the animal had been an elephant. Aziraphale had since learned that Crowley used social media to encourage parents to let him know if it was their child’s birthday on the day of the show, so he could pick them as a ‘volunteer’ for this trick. It was the parents, of course, who told him in advance what the child’s favourite animal was. Today it was Jassim’s sixth birthday, and Jassim loved _dolphins_.

Aziraphale retracted the pole at exactly the same moment that Crowley popped the balloon, leaving the audience gasping as the dolphin fell down, apparently having magically appeared inside the giant balloon that they had just seen Crowley blow up a minute ago. Aziraphale quietly climbed down from the frame, pleased he hadn’t fallen off it no matter how funny that might have been, and took a deep breath, ready to step out on to the stage to actually perform with Crowley in front of the audience. He could hear Crowley speaking to Jassim.

“Is this really your _favourite_ animal? Mine too! I love dolphins. Big brains, dolphins.”

“Yes and they sometimes they have they put sponges on their noses and they eat fish and the spiky things don’t get them.”

Various exclamations of “Awww” and “Oh, bless!” could be heard from the adults in the audience.

“I know, it’s very impressive, isn’t it? And did you know they actually teach each other how to do that?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow; Crowley had clearly understood what Jassim had meant. He peeked around the curtain, not enough for the audience to see him, but enough to see Jassim beaming at Crowley like he was Santa Claus himself as he handed the dolphin over to him (the first _present_ of the night) and encouraged him to take good care of it. Jassim hugged Crowley’s leg and ran across the floor of the studio back to his family.

“I have someone _very_ special with me tonight who’s going to help me with the rest of the show,” Crowley began, and Aziraphale felt his stomach flip over from more than just nerves. Crowley hadn’t told him he planned to say that. “So let’s give him a big round of applause!”

Aziraphale stepped out from behind the curtain and smiled, casting his eyes around the audience.

“Zirfell!” a young child in the front row pointed at him, and her parents waved politely.

“Oh, hello!” Aziraphale responded, thrown off course for a moment, having not expected there to be anyone in the audience who had seen him perform before. On the one hand it was nerve-wracking (what exactly had gone wrong at this particular child’s party?), but she seemed so absolutely and genuinely delighted to see him that the nervousness subsided, and Aziraphale just smiled and waved in return.

“You want to introduce him for me, sweetheart?” Crowley asked softly. The child nodded. “Come here,” he crouched down to her level and beckoned her towards him with his hands. After an encouraging nod from her father, she ran out across the floor of the studio towards Crowley. “Who’s this, sweetheart?”

“Zirfell.”

“ _Aziraphale_ , yes, and what does he do?”

“Magic!” she squealed, throwing her hands up in the air like she was scattering fairy dust. “And he has a rabbit called Harry and he’s my friend.”

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure whether the child considered himself or Harry the rabbit to be her friend, but either sentiment was equally touching. Handling the nerves had been challenging enough, but now he was feeling so completely overwhelmed with too many emotions to even name, and he felt his eyes prick with tears.

“That was a wonderful introduction, thank you, sweetheart. Would _you_ like a present?” The girl’s eyes widened and she nodded emphatically. “Here you go.” Crowley pulled a small parcel out of one of his many secret pockets and handed it over. He gave her a nod and a thumbs up, and she ran back to her proud father, climbing up on to his lap.

“Do you guys think _Aziraphale_ deserves a present?”

This had nothing to do with Crowley’s secret parcels. They’d rehearsed this bit; Aziraphale was about to do the ‘book trick’ as Crowley liked to call it.

_(At another small café one day, the two of them had discussed how they would fit it into the show._

_“I could do Christmas stories!”_

_“I’m not letting you learn another set of books in three weeks, angel. Are you trying to make me feel inadequate?”_

_“I’ve never met anyone for whom it would be so inappropriate to feel_ inadequate _.”_

_“Awww, thanks, angel. Hey, I know what we can do...”)_

The children shouted out an enthusiastic, “Yes!”, with the exception of one, a boy of about eleven, who raised his voice slightly above normal speaking volume to say, “No.” Crowley gasped with complete and total _outrage_.

_(“There’ll always be one who says no. It’s like they know and they play up to it, it’s so funny.”)_

“No? _No_?” Crowley challenged, turning and fixing his eyes on the boy, who was already trying very hard to hold back laughter and solidly return Crowley’s glare. Crowley took a few steps closer, the audience laughing all around him. “You really don’t think my sweet, lovely Aziraphale deserves a present?”

Crowley was then stood right in front of the child as they continued to glare at each other.

“No,” the boy repeated, but it was barely discernable as he giggled, trying so hard not to, and turned his head down away from Crowley.

“I’ll tell you what, if you _really_ don’t think Aziraphale deserves a present,” Crowley spoke in a voice that was somehow low, as if he and the boy were having a secret conversation, but projected for the whole audience to hear. “I’ve got a whole box of books here, and I’ll let you choose a word from any page of any of the books you want, and if Aziraphale can guess what word it is, he can have a present, does that sound fair?”

The boy shrugged and nodded, with poorly-veiled excitement at now being part of the show. Crowley offered him the books and the boy picked one out at random.

“ _The Owl Who Was Afraid Of The Dark_ ,” Crowley read off the cover. Several of the young children jumped in their seats and grabbed their adults excitedly, clearly fans of this particular story. Crowley positioned himself to the side of the boy as he flicked through a couple of pages before stopping and studying the page in front of him, probably searching for what he thought would be the hardest word for Aziraphale to guess. Crowley gave Aziraphale the secret signal for _page two_.

“Got one?” Crowley asked. The boy nodded. “Which one?” He pointed. Crowley gave the signal for _eleven_.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Aziraphale said. “I’m definitely going to get a present. The word is ‘ _somersault_ ’.”

And with that, all traces of smugness dissolved from the boy as he withdrew his hands from the book with cries of, “Noooo! No way! What? No!”, with his family leaning over him to see the page and reacting similarly when they saw that Aziraphale was right. Their reaction was enough to spur the rest of the audience into an enthusiastic round of applause.

Crowley plucked the book back from the boy with a smirk, crossed the studio to Aziraphale and gave him one of his secret pocket presents.

“Thank you, Crowley, but do you know, I think I’m going to be generous and give my present away.” Aziraphale stepped past Crowley and approached the boy, who shrunk down a little in his seat. “Happy Christmas, my dear fellow,” Aziraphale said with a smile.

_(“Forget RP, you should do it really posh, like a proper upper class Victorian gentleman out of A Christmas Carol, it’ll be funny!”)_

Next up was their ‘Santa’s Sack’ trick. Crowley extracted a small cuddly unicorn from one of his pockets and put it inside a small red sack. He explained that it really didn’t matter if you didn’t have a chimney or if your chimney was blocked up, because Santa could use magic to get the presents under the tree.

Aziraphale opened up a box and showed it to the audience (it was empty), and then placed it under the tree. Crowley waved his hand over the sack and then waved it towards the chimney. He unzipped the bottom of his Santa sack and showed that the unicorn had disappeared. Aziraphale reopened the box under the tree, the unicorn now safely nestled inside. The audience gasped and applauded. Aziraphale grinned and took the unicorn to a girl on the second row.

“I rather suspect that _you_ like unicorns, don’t you?” he asked. (Aziraphale well knew that Samantha, whose fifth birthday was today, actually liked unicorns _very_ much.) Samantha hugged the unicorn to her chest, and Aziraphale was beaming as he turned away from her and back towards Crowley. They locked eyes, and Crowley smiled at him fondly. Aziraphale really was the happiest he had ever been in his entire life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter to go!! What's Aziraphale got hidden up his sleeve?? What's inside Crowley's secret presents for him?? 
> 
> Oh, and the 11th word on the 2nd page of The Owl Who Was Afraid Of The Dark really is somersault :-P


	16. Loved and wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The show is over, and it's time for some more presents...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to write this so fast, I have put off so much work because my brain wouldn't stop writing this on its own even when I tried not to think about it! Thank you to everyone who has been reading it, I really hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> The chapter titles have all related to something Aziraphale thinks/feels about himself during the chapter, or something Crowley says about him. So I hope you like the chapter title for this last one. ;-)

By the end of the performance, every child in the room had received a present. The extent of Crowley’s secret pockets really was something to behold, although he had needed to take the opportunity to replenish them during the interval. Also at some point during the interval, Aziraphale noticed that Crowley’s secret bag of _other_ presents had mysteriously disappeared.

During the second half of the show, after Aziraphale’s little helper had finished pouring the fairy dust (biodegradable plant-based glitter, because _dolphins_ ) into his magic pot, he tightened the cap and gave it a shake, and turned his back to the audience for a moment to take the pot over to the table by the Christmas tree (and to give himself the opportunity to discreetly perform the necessary manoeuvre, of course).

When Aziraphale stepped behind the table to put the pot down, he caught sight of Crowley’s bag of secret presents, clipped underneath the table and hidden from view at the front by the red cloth draped over it. Aziraphale grinned, rather pleased with himself for deducing that Crowley might do something like this. He waved his magic wand and unscrewed the cap of the pot, releasing twelve wind-up fairies into the room (apparently transformed from the fairy dust by the power of Christmas magic), to the delighted squeals of children and applause of adults.

Crowley performed the finale, which involved a story about a shipping container that was lost at sea followed by the sudden, unexplained appearance of a huge pile of bright yellow rubber ducks (more than enough for each child to take one with them on their way out), and wished everyone a _Merry Christmas_. Then he put his hand in one of his pockets, and the screen in the corner of the room beside Newt’s chimney and fireplace flickered on. Aziraphale furrowed his brow and turned to the screen; it was switched on but it was still black. They hadn’t planned this. Well, maybe _Crowley_ had planned this, but Aziraphale had no idea what was going on.

“It’s the end of the show, and we are so grateful to you all for coming tonight. We’ve had a lot of fun and I hope you have too, but I hope you’ll indulge me just once more before you go.” Crowley turned his head around to face the curtains. “Newt! Anathema! Could you come out here please?”

Anathema stepped out confidently from behind the Christmas tree, Newt crept out a little more sheepishly from behind the chimney.

“You all remember Newt and Anathema from when you came in? And you may have seen them rushing around like little elves in the background tonight working very hard to make everything a success. Anathema and Newt are students at the university studying Performing and Production Arts, and I’ve had the pleasure of having them with me for one of their placements. Unfortunately, tonight is their last night working with me, and so I really just wanted to say... thank you.” He gestured for Newt and Anathema to come closer, then directed their attention to the screen.

The screen began displaying a photo of Anathema lying precariously on a metal frame, similar to the one that Aziraphale himself had climbed tonight, then changed to a photo of Newt with his head flopped down onto a table, surrounded by rubber ducks. The audience laughed. Aziraphale parted his lips and touched his hand to his heart, watching with wonder as the photographs progressed through Crowley’s slideshow. Anathema putting on her witch makeup for _The End of Days_ , followed by Newt lying in a hospital bed. The audience sucked in a sympathetic breath.

“Yeah, that was the incident with the lighting rig I think?” Crowley mused. Anathema and Newt nodded.

Anathema glaring, a chaotic pile of playing cards in front of her, holding an elastic band out beseechingly towards the camera. Newt in hospital again, but this photograph he had clearly taken himself.

“He sent me that to explain why he was going to be late! The electrocution, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Mr. Crowley,” Newt replied bashfully with a small smile on his face. Next, Anathema was fiddling with a Rubik’s cube while Newt looked on guiltily.

“Ugh, we ended up having to pull it to bits and rebuild it from scratch,” Crowley recalled.

The slideshow continued: Anathema vanquishing the Serpent of Eden; Anathema and Newt with their arms around each other (which they imitated now upon seeing the photo); a table full of various seemingly random objects.

“All the stuff Newt broke while he was working with me,” Crowley explained.

“Your _laptop_? That’s not fair!” Newt protested.

“Honestly, everyone, it stopped working _the moment he walked into the room_!” Aziraphale chuckled along with the audience, remembering the first time Crowley had told him that story. “Seriously, kids, if you’ve been wanting some new tech for Christmas but your parents won’t get it for you because the old one’s still working, just have a word with Newt on the way out, just _mentioning_ it to him should be enough to do it.”

Then the photographs stopped appearing and the screen went black again, just covered with the words **_Thank you Anathema and Newt!_** :) in white text.

Crowley stepped behind the table, took off his hat and showed the audience that it was empty. He placed it down on the table, lifted a square of red silk and laid it over the hat. When Crowley waved his magic wand and removed the silk, _presents_ had appeared in the hat. The audience applauded.

Carrying his hat with him, Crowley approached Anathema and held out a present to her. She smiled and pulled him into a hug. Aziraphale could make out the tears in her eyes, and then dabbed at his own, realising he was similarly affected.

Crowley gestured for Newt to come over and handed him a present too, muttering the words, “Don’t worry, most of technical theatre isn’t actually _technical_ ,” as Newt hugged him too, before retreating to put his arm around Anathema. They rested their heads against each other.

Crowley looked over at Aziraphale then.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you out,” Crowley teased, and the audience laughed again. “This has been the first opportunity I’ve had to properly work with this wonderful man, and I do hope it won’t be the last.”

Crowley subtly pointed to the screen again. It started cycling through the photographs of Crowley and Aziraphale in the Garden of Eden, and stopped on the photo of the two of them facing each other, smiling and looking into each other’s eyes. Many of the adults in the audience turned to the person sat beside them, quiet declarations of “awww!” dotted around the room.

“Yeah I know, he’s cute i’n’t he? Who wouldn’t want this angel on top of their Christmas tree?” Crowley joked, grinning at Aziraphale, who was trying very hard to just stand still and smile politely and not think about what Crowley was saying or the accompanying pounding of his heart induced by it. “But seriously, this is a man of much greater patience, intelligence and sophistication than myself. As you might expect it did take a little bit of convincing to get him to work with me, but I’m so, so glad that he did. So please could we have another huge round of applause for Aziraphale?”

The audience complied with Crowley’s request, a few going above and beyond by adding some cheering, and Crowley handed a single present (the green one) to Aziraphale, before putting his hat, now empty, back on his head. Crowley hugged him, just for a moment longer than he had hugged either Anathema or Newt.

Aziraphale pulled back, looking at Crowley with that same devious twinkle in his eye that Crowley had inflicted on him on so many occasions.

“I’m not going to leave _you_ out, either.”

Aziraphale withdrew his magic wand from his pocket, inserted it a short way up his sleeve, and then pulled it back out, accompanied by a cuddly toy of a black snake with a red belly, gold eyes, and a pink forked tongue sticking out, complete with a little Santa hat on top of its head. He held it out to Crowley, who stared back at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

Eventually, Crowley tentatively reached out and took the snake from him, tucking it into one of his pockets with its cute little face poking out. Then he placed his hand on Aziraphale’s arm and leaned in to quickly kiss him on the cheek. It lasted less than a second, but Aziraphale’s skin burned like he’d been struck with his (now Pepper’s) flaming sword.

“We do hope you all have a wonderful Christmas,” Aziraphale addressed the audience. “And get all the _presents_ you wanted,” he added with a chuckle. “Goodnight!”

The audience gave them one last round of applause, and then started moving from their seats. Newt and Anathema rushed to open the door, standing on either side of it to hand out rubber ducks and wish everyone _goodnight_ and _Merry Christmas_. Some of the children approached Crowley and Aziraphale to say _thank you_ in person, and some asked for their autograph. Aziraphale apologised, informing them that he didn’t have a pen, and Crowley just grinned, put his hand into one of his many pockets and withdrew a novelty pen with a large white feather attached, handing it to Aziraphale with a wink. It looked like one of the feathers from his angel costume.

Once the last member of the audience had filed out and Anathema pulled the door closed, Crowley clenched his fists and punched them in the air.

“That was flawless! I mean, actually _flawless_! Nothing went wrong, not even a little bit! That _never_ happens! If you lined up every magician in the world and asked them how their last show went, no one _at all_ would say flawless! Come here,” Crowley added softly, ushering them all into a group hug. Anathema was the first to pull away.

“Stop it!” she growled, wiping tears from her eyes. “It’s so creepy when you’re nice.”

“The witch has _feelings_!” Crowley exclaimed, and she punched him in the arm.

“I’m going to start packing up,” she stated defiantly, taking Newt’s hand and leading him behind the curtains. Aziraphale brushed a tear away from his cheek.

“You ok, angel?”

“Yes. Absolutely. I am _much_ more than ok, that was... incredible! I had _so much_ fun!” Aziraphale gushed, and Crowley shook his fist in the air in triumph.

“ _You_ were incredible. You believe me, right?”

“I do believe you. Thank you so much, Crowley. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

“S’been as much for me, angel,” he replied, and they smiled sweetly at each other. “So... the Sssserpent of Eden?” Crowley asked, pulling the soft snake out from his pocket and dragging it so that it slithered in and out between his fingers. “Wearing a Santa hat, no less. Where did you get this?”

“Erm... the pet shop. I’m afraid it’s actually a dog toy.”

“Fit for a hellhound,” Crowley joked and started squeezing along the length of the plush snake until he found the squeaker. Then he held the snake close to Aziraphale’s ear and squeaked it incessantly until Aziraphale pushed his arm away and rolled his eyes.

“I really love it, thank you, angel.”

“You are most welcome.”

“Although something about the way you revealed it does suggest that perhaps you were somehow aware that _I_ had a present for _you_? You been going through my stuff again looking for secretssssss?” Crowley tried to shove the snake’s face into Aziraphale’s ear again, but he ducked and skirted to the side before he could get too close.

“Not exactly. I’m afraid I was just checking everything for tonight, one can never be too careful with Newt around,” he confessed, and Crowley seemed to concede the point. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop, and I promise I didn’t breathe a word to Newt or Anathema.”

“S’ok, angel. I forgive you.”

“In the interest of full disclosure, I did notice that there were _two_ parcels with my name on?”

Aziraphale expected Crowley to tease him for being greedy before relenting and handing over the other present, but that’s not what happened at all. For the first time, Aziraphale witnessed Crowley at a loss for words. He was blushing and wringing his hands together, and Aziraphale could see his shoulders moving with every breath. He actually looked _nervous_. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be greedy!” Aziraphale joked, trying to relieve the tension. Crowley made an unintelligible noise in the back of his throat.

“It’s the coloured cards trick, angel,” he finally murmured, followed by a long drawn out breath.

Aziraphale knew what Crowley was implying with that. In the coloured cards trick, the magician has three separate reveals planned, depending on which of the cards the volunteer chooses. The volunteer is always shocked that the magician correctly predicted the card they would choose, it never occurring to them that a different choice would have just set a different series of actions in motion.

“I wanted to give myself options. Red for stop, green for... go. Please forgive me if I’ve misread things and chosen the wrong one.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around himself. He was staring at the pocket into which Aziraphale had deposited the parcel.

“Do you want me to open it?” Aziraphale asked, with no idea why Crowley would have wanted two options to give him a Christmas present, particularly two options that he wanted to maintain until the last possible moment. Crowley started fiddling with the knot in this scarf and nodded.

Aziraphale withdrew the tiny parcel from his pocket and ripped it open, too curious to take the time to be delicate. He stuffed the wrapping paper back in his pocket and found himself looking down at a simple, handmade Christmas decoration. Rounded, green felt leaves were attached to small, needle-felted white balls that looked like berries. It was mistletoe. Aziraphale turned it over in his hand and stared at it.

“Please say something, angel. ‘Cause all that stuff about me having psychic powers is bollocks and I really need to know what you’re thinking right now.”

For once, Aziraphale wasn’t thinking about much at all. Just two very simple things: _mistletoe means kisses_ , and _Crowley gave me mistletoe_. He glanced up from his hand to look Crowley in the eye, seeing that same expression of adoration that he had in the photograph of them in the Garden of Eden, with so much more emotion behind it now, but tainted with a touch of fear.

Aziraphale looked deep into Crowley’s eyes and ran his tongue over his lips, which was sufficient to spur Crowley into action. He leant down and closed the distance between them, capturing Aziraphale’s lips in a kiss that was the most tender and exquisite he had ever experienced, with a gentle pressure that made no effort to hide Crowley’s immense restraint from taking it further.

They were interrupted by Anathema shouting, “It’s about freaking time!” Aziraphale tried to pull away, but Crowley mumbled against his mouth and pulled him close again. “Throw me the car key, we’ll start loading up.”

Crowley dug into his trouser pocket, never once letting his lips disconnect from Aziraphale’s, found what he was looking for and threw the key. Unsurprisingly, given Crowley wasn’t actually looking at what he was doing, it clattered on to the floor.

“I’ve got it. We’ll meet you down there,” Anathema chuckled.

Aziraphale pulled away again, turning his head towards Anathema. “No. _More_ ,” Crowley breathed, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s cheek and turning him back to reclaim his lips. The door to the studio opened and closed, and perhaps because he knew they were finally alone, Crowley pulled Aziraphale even closer against him, his fingers running all the way up Aziraphale’s back, over his neck, up into his hair. Aziraphale moaned, and Crowley tightened his grip in Aziraphale’s hair, which only served to make him moan more against Crowley’s mouth.

Crowley finally pulled back, gasping for breath and staring at Aziraphale like he was in complete awe of him.

“I’ve fallen in love with you, Aziraphale,” he panted.

“Yes, I’ve rather fallen in love with you too.”

Crowley held out his arms and Aziraphale stepped into them, and Crowley just held on tight, squeezing his arms around him like he was afraid to let him go, periodically planting kisses on his cheek.

“You have no idea how badly I want you, angel. Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Aziraphale shook his head coyly, and Crowley wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, pulling him close for another kiss, flicking his tongue out and parting Aziraphale’s lips just for a moment before leaning back, his arms still wrapped around Aziraphale.

“Look, before we do anything else, there’s a couple of things I really need to ask you about,” Crowley began as soon as they separated. Aziraphale, who had been feeling like he really was an angel floating on a heavenly cloud, came crashing back down to Earth. He withdrew his hands from Crowley’s back and clasped them tightly together in front of him.

“Firstly,” Crowley stated, narrowing his eyes and holding one finger up between them, before continuing, his voice low, slow and deliberate, “ _I shall just impale you with my sword._ Secondly,” he added, raising another finger, “ _You can do whatever you want with me._ You can do _whatever you want_ with me? Are you _kidding_ me? I was _on stage_! I honestly don’t know how I held it together! What were you trying to do to me?”

Aziraphale had quickly relaxed when he caught the devilish glint in Crowley’s eye. He was still holding his hands together in front of him, but now more as part of an overall appearance of angelic innocence. He could feel his cheeks burning, and bit his bottom lip.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” Aziraphale replied truthfully. “I certainly didn’t mean anything _inappropriate_. I’m shocked that you would even imply such a thing.” Crowley growled and leaned forward to kiss him again briefly on the lips, before moving his attention to Aziraphale’s neck, working his way up to his ear.

“And now?” Crowley murmured, and Aziraphale became unsteady on his feet with the sensation of Crowley’s warm breath in his ear once again, clutching on to Crowley for support.

“Now?” Aziraphale choked out.

“Can I do whatever I want with you _now_?” he growled, nuzzling and kissing the sensitive spot behind Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale sucked in a breath and gripped on tightly to Crowley’s shirt.

“Yes!” he gasped. “Do whatever you want with me. _Please_.”

Crowley hissed into his ear.

“With pleassssure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally made it to their happy ending! Aziraphale is oblivious no more! <3 Thank you so much for reading, and I really appreciate your comments and kudos!
> 
> I am missing performing magic in my self-isolation, I had so many shows lined up for this year that of course had to be cancelled, so this has been great fun getting my head back into a magical place!
> 
> Some more notes for you on the story:  
> \- Crowley gets the presents into the hat by unclipping the bag from the back of the table as he picks up the silk. It's concealed under the silk and then he can turn it inside out as he pulls the silk back.  
> \- Mistletoe has different coloured berries in different parts of the world, but they're white in the UK.  
> \- Crowley doesn't have a secret passion for needle-felting, he bought it at one of those cute little Christmas markets.  
> \- Aziraphale's 'red' present was a little angel Christmas tree decoration. Crowley does still give it to him, and it takes pride of place on Aziraphale's Christmas tree. One day he notices that the snake toy is half wrapped around a branch and half wrapped around the angel, hissing in its ear.  
> \- In 1992, a shipping container full of rubber ducks really was lost at sea. Scientists monitored their appearance on coastlines around the world to improve our understanding of ocean currents.  
> \- Newt wasn't there on the first night in the theatre because he was in hospital after the 'lighting rig incident'. His future career will involve non-technical technical theatre like costumes and stage dressing.  
> \- Aziraphale stayed in his massive house after his break-up rather than moving somewhere smaller because he owns it outright anyway, doesn't like change, and has turned two rooms into libraries and another into a 'magic room'. He's also built a very impressive big enclosure for Harry the rabbit.  
> \- Crowley currently only has three books in his flat that aren't about magic or marine life, all three of which were written by Aziraphale. He managed to find them online after their coffee shop 'date'.
> 
> I once had to pull apart my magic Rubik's cube and reassemble it from scratch. Now no one's allowed to touch it.
> 
> Thank you again for reading!! <3<3<3
> 
> (Edited to add this in - the amazing Andrea @acsalva_art has created this wonderful artwork of the photo of Aziraphale and Crowley together at Eden on Halloween! I love it!! <3 https://www.instagram.com/p/CH95awPgtyE/?igshid=uarky1myjeae)


End file.
